THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


» 


r  " 


MRS.  L  HAINES. 


LTTTT^Tr^     C7  TL^  TT^'nP/^TLJT 
IPE  SK.b  HGl 


AND 


POEM 


BY 


MRS.  L.  HAINES. 


MINNEAPOLIS,  MINN. 

1894. 


PS 


TO 

D.  L.  LIBBY 

THIS  WORK  IS 

RESPECTFULLY      DEDICATED 
BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


762878 


INTRODUCTION. 


I  write  this,  dear  reader,  hoping  there  may  be  some  good 
results  attained,  by  simple  means.  At  the  age  of  sixty-eight 
years  I  was  very  sick,  and  for  weeks  I  hovered  between  two 
worlds.  It  appeared  that  I  was  on  a  cloud;  I  had  beautiful 
visions;  I  could  see  a  lovely  river,  and  across  that  river  mound 
after  mound  of  beautiful  flowers,  and  as  far  as  my  eyes  could 
look,  foliage  that  nature  could  not  compare  with. 

When  I  came  back  to  myself  I  was  very  much  surprised. 
I  always  loved  poetry,  but  could  not  compose  it.  Before  I  had 
strength  to  write  it  down  it  came  rushing  upon  me  in  volumes. 
A  large  part  passed  without  being  noted;  that  I  could  not  re 
member.  But  when  there  was  a  friend  near  to  write  it  down, 
that  we  kept.  You  will  find  dreams  that  came  to  me  in 
poetry. 

I  am  not  an  author  or  a  poet.  When  those  attacks  pass 
away  I  cannot  rhythm  one  verse.  I  cannot  say  I  have  any 
power  over  it.  Some  of  my  pieces  would  hang  over  me  for 
days,  iu  a  broken  form.  Then,  perhaps  in  the  twilight,  when 
nature  was  at  rest,  they  would  come  in  form,  and  I  would 
have  to  write  for  hours.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  tell  what  this  is.  It 
has  influenced  me  to  write  a  part  of  my  life,  and  give  it  to  the 
public.  It  is  from  the  pen  of  an  old  lady  upwards  of  three 
score  and  ten  years. 


I  have  taken  a  few  poems  from  authors  that  seemed  to  rep 
resent  my  case.  Dear  reader,  kindly  excuse  all  mistakes,  for 
you  well  know  that  at  my  age  my  work  must  be  far  from  per 
fect,  and  I  hope  that  God  will  influence  your  minds  while  you 
read,  as  He  has  mine  while  I  write. 

Some  of  these  pages  are  sudden  flashes  of  inspiration,  in 
moments  of  high  excitement,  but  whether  to  the  originator 
suddenly  or  slowly,  they  have  back  of  them  the  power  of 
experience. 

Respectfully  yours, 

MRS.  L.  HAINES. 

Minneapolis,  Minn.,  June  ad,  1894. 


Life  Sketches  and  Poems. 


The  subject  of  this  sketch  was  born  in  Rockland, 
Maine,  in  1824,  and  was  the  oldest  of  ten  children. 
My  father  was  a  sea  captain.  He  sailed  his  ship  from 
the  time  of  my  earliest  remembrance.  My  people 
took  a  little  orphan  girl  three  years  older  than  I  was, 
and  adopted  her.  She  was  the  same  as  an  own  sister 
to  me. 

I  had  a  maiden  aunt  that  was  our  house-keeper  for 
many  years.  Now  I  can  look  back  into  the  years  of 
long  ago,  way  down  upon  the  rocky  coast  of  Maine; 
my  childhood  was  beautiful. 

We  had  a  lovely  home  down  by  the  Atlantic's  blue 
wave;  there  was  a  pebbly  strand  where  we  would  sit 
and  watch  the  vessels  away  in  the  distance,  and  when 
the  tide  was  coming  in  we  would  lay  pebbles  down  to 
see  the  tide  wash  over  them.  It  was  a  fine  view. 
Rockland  harbor  was  the  finest  on  the  coast,  and  it 
was  always  full  of  shipping. 

There  was  a  high  point  of  land  that  extended  into 
the  sea  that  had  a  light-house  upon  it.  That  point 
helped  to  make  the  harbor.  It  was  called  Owl's  Head 


8  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Light.  Some  of  my  readers  will  no  jioubt  remember 
that  light-house  as  they  came  around  the  point  from 
the  west.  Rockland  was  supported  by  its  shipping 
and  lime  burning. 

I  spoke  of  my  aunt  being  our  house-keeper.  She 
was  not  as  kind  as  our  mother.  She  was  not  blest 
with  pets,  nor  did  she  allow  them  to  be  around  her. 
I  remember  how  my  adopted  sister  would  try  to  get 
into  her  good  graces.  We  were  happy  when  we 
could  get  into  the  kitchen. 

My  fancy  revisits  the  old  fire-place, 
With  its  andirons  as  bright  as  the  sun, 

We  all  so  happy  a  making  our  pies — 
Dear  mother  looking  on  at  the  fun. 

Dear  mother  has  gone  to  the  home  of  the  blest, 
The  children  have  flown  one  by  one, 

The  old  house  has  vanished  along  with  the  rest, 
There  is  nothing  now  left  but  the  one. 

But  I  trust  we  shall  meet  in  that  beautiful  land, 
When  the  life  spark  goes  out  of  the  one ; 

An  unbroken  band  in  that  happy  land, 
To  look  on  the  face  of  the  Son. 

Whatever  my  aunt  promised,  we  were  sure  that  she 
would  do,  for  she  was  strictly  honest.  She  would  tell 
us  that  if  she  did  not  have  to  mark  us  in  our  deport 
ment  for  one  month,  that  she  would  make  us  a  little 
tea  party,  and  invite  our  playmates..  But  if  she  put 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  9 

one  mark  against  us  in  that  time,  no  matter  how  much 
we  promised  for  the  future,  it  would  do  no  good. 

Our  dear  mother  was  not  strong,  but  she  was  our 
governess,  regarding  right  and  wrong.  Her  heart 
was  full  of  love,  and  auntie's  full  of  rules. 

I  remember  one  fourth  of  July  we  were  all  dressed 
for  a  picnic  and  our  hearts  were  full  of  glee.  An 
hour  before  we  were  ready  to  go  there  came  a  sntall 
shower,  and  the  word  came  to  us,  "You  cannot  go, 
you  will  spoil  your  white  frocks."  What  a  disappoint 
ment  that  was  to  us,  when  we  saw  others  going  who 
did  not  mind  the  dampness;  we  went  to  our  rooms  and 
.  spent  the  day  in  childish  regrets.  My  heart  alwrays 
aches  for  children  when  I  see  them  disappointed  and 
made  unhappy.  . 

There  is  a  great  joy  in  my  heart  when  I  see  cnil- 
dren  happy,  bright  and  free;  our  Saviour  says  "Let 
little  children  come  unto  Me." 

All  day  our  busy,  busy  feet 

Had  pattered  to  and  fro; 
And  all  the  day  our  little  hands 

Had  been  in  mischief  so, 

That  aunty  dear  was  truly  tired, 

Still  she  had  loving  care; 
She  had  kept  us  through  the  day  from  harm, 

And  safe  from  every  snare. 

But  when  the  eventide  had  come 
Our  mother  would  go  up-stairs; 


io  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

We  would  kneel  beside  our  little  bed 
And  she  would  hear  our  prayers. 

With  folded  hands  and  rev'rent  mien, 

"Our  Father,"  first  we'd  say: 
Then,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 

With  childish  faith  we'd  pray. 

With  cheeks  upon  the  pillow  pressed, 

We'd  give  a  kiss,  and  say, 
"Good  night,  we  love  you,  dear  mamma, 

You  have  been  so  kind  to-day." 

At  ten  years  of  age  I  often  Went  to  sea  with  my 
father.  I  loved  the  ocean,  and  enjoyed  it  when  the 
mad  waves  almost  drowned  the  moon.  I  never  was 
tired  looking  on  its  bounding  tide,  and  I  could  always 
see  something  grand  in  the  blue  ocean,  from  a  child. 
When  the  waves  would  dash  against  the  ship's  side  I 
would  think  it  sublime,  and  watch  my  father's  face  to 
see  if 'I  could  detect  a  look  of  fear.  Then  I  would 
have  deep  thoughts  about  the  storm.  We  always  ex 
perienced  heavv  storms  of  thunder  and  lightning  in 
the  Gulf  Stream.  Sometimes  black  clouds  would  hang 
over  us  for  hours.  In  those  electrical  displays  one 
could  see  to  pick  up  a  pin  on  the  ship's  deck. 

My  adopted  sister  did  not  love  the  ocean.  She  had 
great  fear  when  she  was  even  on  a  small  body  of  wa 
ter.  I  wished  very  much  to  have  her  for  a  companion 
aboard  the  ship,  but  she  would  never  go  with  me. 

Time  rolled  on  and  Bessia  was  engaged  to  be  mar- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  u 

ried.  It  was  to  a  gentleman  that  father  had  kept  for 
sixteen  years  to  look  after  his  business.  Father  said 
he  was  worthy  of  Bessia's  hand.  They  were  to  stop 
with  us  two  years  after  their  marriage.  We  knew  we 
should  not  feel  her  loss  so  much  as  if  she  went  away 
soon  after  her  marriage. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June,  and  the  roses  were  in 
bloom,  when  William  Bennet  took  his  bride.  We 
had  made  preparations  for  the  wedding.  In  those 
days  it  was  the  style  to  have  large  weddings;  one 
hundred  and  fifty  or  even  two  hundred  was  not  called 
a  large  wedding.  We  had  a  large  three-story  house 
and  plenty  of  room  to  entertain  company. 

It  was  the  first  marriage  in  the  house  and  we  were 
all  interested  in  the  nuptials.  It  was  a  great  novelty 
to  us  children.  The  big  brick  oven  was  kept  warm 
for  several  days  with  plenty  of  attendants  to  wait  up 
on  it. 

That  dear  old  aunty  was  full  of  business.  She  was 
mistress  from  attic  to  cellar,  and  she  made  her  power 
felt  among  the  small  ones.  Turkeys,  geese,  and  chick 
ens  had  to  suffer  about  that  time,  with  plenty  of  mince 
pies,  and  apple  and  English  plum  puddings,  to  say 
nothing  about  bride's  cake,  or  pound  and  fruit  cakes, 
that  you  could  hardly  number. 

If  that  table  had  been  set  for  this  generation,  there 
would  have  been  several  cases  of  la  grippe,  mixed  with 


12  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Asiatic  cholera,  but  everything  was  healthy:  indiges 
tion  was  not  thought  of  by  those  hardy  people  in  those 
days.  It  was  eat  and  be  merry  in  the  Puritan  style. 

Well,  if  I  am  not  careful  I  shall  forget  my  subject, 
dear  readers;  you  know  old  people  are  apt  to  forget. 

We  went  to  the  woods  and  got  a  cart-load  of  beau 
tiful  evergreens,  and  mixed  them  with  roses*  and  wild 
flowers,  and  dressed  every  nook  and  corner  in  the 
rambling  old  house.  It  was  a  perfect  bower. 

The  guests  were  called  and  the  hour  arrived.  Lit 
tle,  graceful  Bessia  was  exquisite;  her  complexion  was 
pure  brunette;  her  eyes  b.rilliant  and  dark.  She  wore 
a  white  satin  gown  trimmed  with  old  lace.  My  father 
gave  her  to  her  intended  husband,  who  was  as  noble 
as  herself.  In  a  few  moments  they  two  were  pro 
nounced  one.  and  the  old  Puritan  blessing  was  said. 
Then  all  prepared  for  the  feast  which  lasted  several 
hours. 

We  all  felt  that  the  Bessia  we  loved  was  no  more 
ours.  She  was  anothers.  Her  wedding  gift  from  my 
father  was  a  beautiful  home,  but  they  did  not  occupy 
it  for  two  years,  Mr.  Bennet  continuing  in  father's 
business,  and  they  remained  with  us.  In  the  course 
of  that  two  years  they  had  a  very  nice  little  boy. 
They  called  him  John,  but  we  called  him  Jony,  for 
a  baby  name.  He  was  the  pride  of  our  house. 

It  is  but  a   few  years   since    I    visited    them   in  the 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  13 

East.  My  first  thought  was,  where  is  my  Jony,  as  I 
used  to  call  him.  I  was  very  much  surprised  to  hear 
that  he  was  married  and  lived  in  Portland,  Maine,  and 
was  captain  of  one  of  the  steamers  that  run  between 
Eastport  and  Boston.  He  was  all  the  son  they  ever 
had.  They  had  two  daughters;  both  had  married 
well. 

What  a  change  in  twenty-five  years.  I  could  say 
the  trees  appear  much  taller;  the  stream  appears 
less  wide,  and  even  the  Atlantic's  blue  waters  had  not 
the  charm  of  childhood.  Those  by-gone  days  can 
never  be  recalled. 


Minneapolis,  May  5th,   1894. 

The  snow  of  the  winter  is  gone; 

The  sun  is  now  beaming  on  the  meadows  and  rills, 

On  the  valleys  and  hills, 

And  the  groves  are  all  vocal  with  song. 

It  is  pleasant  to  welcome  the  spring, 

Viewing  nature  so  fair, 

And  inhaling  the  air, 

With  the  strength  and  vigor  it  brings. 

There  is  no  month  so  glorious  as  May, 
For  the  winter  has  vanished  away, 
And  bright  sunshine  and  showers 

Invite  the  sweet  flowers  to  spring  from  their  coverings 
of  clay.  • 


14  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

There  is  beautiful  blue  in  the  skies, 
And  nature's  mantle  of  green  meets  our  eyes. 
Oh,  the  country  looks  grand,  our  own  native  land, 
The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free. 

And  we  will  thank  our  Lord  of  Hosts, 
And  in  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  boast, 
That  they  landed  on  this  coast, 
To  make  us  free. 


The  Evening  Hearthstone. 
Gladly  now  we  gather  round  it, 

For  the  toiling  day  is  done, 
And  the  gray  and  solemn  twilight 

Follows  down  the  golden  sun. 

Shadows  lengthen  on  the  pavement, 
Stalk  like  giants  through  the  'gloom ; 

Wander  past  the  dusky  casement, 
Creep  around  the  fire-lit  room. 

What  care  we  for  outward  seeming, 
Fickle  fortune's  frown  or  smiles, 

If  around  us  love  is  beaming; 
Love  can  human  ills  beguile. 

'Neath  the  cottage  roof  and  palace, 
From  the  peasant  to  the  king, 

All  are  quaffing  from  life's  chalice 
Bubbles  that  enchantments  bring. 

Grates  are  glowing,  music  flowing 
From  the  lips  we  Jove  the  best, 

Oh,  the  joy,  the  bliss  of  knowing 
There  are  hearts  whereon  to  rest. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  15 

My  father  took  my  oldest  brother  on  board  the  ship 
at  seven  years  of  age,  and  put  him  in  care  of  a  tutor 
to  educate  him  for  a  sea  captain,  which  in  time  he  be 
came.  He  took  command  of  a  brig  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  years.  He  could  sail  a  ship  up  the  Straits  of 
Gibralter,  and  he  was  destined  for  that  place  when  a 
stroke  of  the  yellow  fever  laid  him  low. 


Lines  on  the  death  of  Captain  Oliver  Brown. 

He  sleeps  far  away  from  his  home,  in  a  land 

Beyond  the  Atlantic's  blue  wave, 
Where  the  soft  spicy  breezes 

Blow  gentle  and  bland 
As  they  sigh  o'er  his  early  made  grave. 

He  has  sailed  his  last  voyage, 

His  hardships  are  o'er; 
He  lies  in  the  cold,  silent  tomb; 

The  home  that  he  loved  he  shall  visit  no  more, 
From  a  land  where  the  wild  roses  bloom. 

Oh  well  may  we  mourn  for  the  loss  of  a  friend, 

So  noble,  so  manly  as  he; 
We  oft  shed  a  tear  when  a  lone  thought  we  send 

To  a  grave  far  away  o'er  the  sea. 

But  I  trust  we  shall  meet 

In  that  beautiful  land, 

When  the  short  voyage  of  life  shall  be  o'er; 

In  that  better  land 

Where  the  mourner  finds  rest, 

And  parting  is  known  never  more. 


16  LIFE  SKETCHKS  AND  POEMS. 

My  brother's  death  was  very  sudden.  A  New  York 
company  was  building  a  ship  to  go  up  the  straits  of 
Gibralter,  into  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  he  was  to 
be  captain  of  the  ship.  While  they  were  rigging  the 
ship  for  the  voya^ge,  he  went  out  to  Nassau,  in  one  of 
the  West  India  Islands,  after  a  load  of  fruit.  They  had 
nearly  completed  their  cargo,  when  the  first  mate  and 
himself  took  a  walk  up  on  the  Island.  They  came 
to  a  point  that  extended  into  the  sea.  It  was  a  grove 
of  weeping  willows.  The  mate  said  my  brother 
picked  out  a  spot  of  ground  under  a  weeping  willow, 
and  said  if  he  had  got  to  die  he  would  like  to  be  laid 
there.  The  mate  said  when  he  made  that  remark,  a 
cold  chill  came  over  him,  he  could  not  tell  why.  That 
night  he  was  called  to  my  brother's  state-room  and 
found  him  very  sick,  and  unconscious.  They  called  a 
doctor,  who  ordered  the  mate  to  put  the  brig  to  sea, 
saying,  if  that  would  not  save  him,  he  must  die.  They 
put  to  sea,  but  it  was  impossible  to  save  him;  he  suf 
fered  six  days  and  died. 

They  returned  to  the  island  and  buried  him  in  the 
mound  he  had  selected,  only  eight  days  before.  He 
was  not  twenty-one  years  of  age  when  he  died.  But 
he  had  made  his  mark.  When  only  ten  years  of  age 
he  saved  my  father's  ship  from  being  lost.  The  pilot 
had  lost  his  reckoning  through  several  days  of  fog. 
My  brother  had  kept  a  log-book,  and  knew  all  the 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  17 

soundings.  He  told  father  that  if  the  pilot  kept  that 
course  the  ship  would  be  lost.  The  pilot  would  not 
hear  to  him  until  they  heard  the  breakers  roar,  and  had 
only  time  to  put  the  ship  about  to  save  their  lives. 
Then  the  pilot  took  my  brother  in  his  arms  and  walked 
the  deck.  Father  said  he  shed  tears  like  a  child.  He 
was  not  like  the  most  of  boys.  He  never  had  a  boy 
hood.  He  cared  not  to  play. 

My  brother  was  my  mother's  idol.  She  was  a 
purely  Christian  mother,  but  she  had  a  great  weak 
ness.  She  idolized  her  boy.  Many  a  time  did  she  lift 
her  heart  up  to  God  in  prayer  for  him,  when  the  win 
ter  gales  would  be  raging  without.  Her  face  would 
wear  an  anxious  look,  and  she  would  utter  in  piteous 
tones,  "Oh!  my  dear  boy,  he  is  on  the  ocean  this  fear 
ful  night;  O  God,  preserve  him;  bring  him  once  more 
to  my  bosom." 

My  brother  loved  his  mother.  He  thought  no  one 
could  fill  her  place.  Perhaps  that  was  why  she  loved 
him  so  dearly.  We  all  loved  him.  It  was  very  hard 
to  be  reconciled  to  his  death,  and  think  that  one  so 
noble  and  manly  as  he,  with  so  much  command,  should 
be  taken  from  loving  friends  and  home. 

God  washes  the  eyes  until  they  behold 
The  otherwise  invisible  land  where  tears 
Shall  come  no  more. 
O  love,  O  affliction,  ye  are  the  guides  that 


i8  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Show  us  the  way  through  the  great  airy 
Space  where  our  loved  ones  walked. 
God  teaches  us  while  our  sorrow  is  tear-wet 
To  follow  on  and  find  our  dear  ones  in  Heaven. 


After  my  brother's  death,  when  father  was  on  the 
ocean,  we  would  gather  around  mother  and  ask  her  to 
tell  us  about  their  early  life.  She  would  sit  for  hours 
and  tell  us  about  our  father,  but  if  my  brother's  name 
was  mentioned,  then  all  would  be  hushed.  She  never 
spoke  of  him  without  shedding  tears.  Man}-  a  time 
did  she  try  to  conceal  them,  still  in  her  heart  she  felt 
that  she  would  meet  him  again.  We  knew  his  life. 
He  was  a  pure  young  man  and  a  great  loss  to  our 
family. 

If  our  troubles  were  in  the  light  of  God's  power, 
love,  faithfulness,  and  wisdom,  they  would  become  to 
us  small  burdens.  Why  should  we  not  so  regard 
them? 

My  mother  was  a  member  of  the  Methodist  Episco 
pal  church.  She  joined  that  body  when  she  was 
twenty  years  old,  and  she  was  a  faithful  member,  high 
ly  cultured  for  those  times.  She  had  largeness  of 
mind  and  depth  of  thought,  and  she  taught  us  honesty, 
virtue,  truthfulness,  and  the  spirit  of  duty.  She  was 
everything  to  us  that  could  be  expected  of  a  mother. 
I  will  say  to  my  mother's  memory  that  she  was  that 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  19 

link  that  bound  me  to  seek  that  better  part  that  I  trust 
will  never  be  taken  from  me. 

My  mother  in  teaching  and  dealing  with  us  would 
sacredly  observe  our  traits,  which,  if  neglected  in  early 
life,  will  most  assuredly  mar  the  character  in  after 
years,  and  show  to  the  \vorld  the  defect  of  parental 
training. 

She  was  kind,  with  true  politeness.  In  her  inter 
course  with  us  and  with  others  in  our  presence,  she 
would  say  to  us,  "You  know,  dear  children,  that  pre 
cept  \vithout  example  makes  no  lasting  impression  for 
good."  She  would  raise  her  voice  in  prayer,  saying, 
'•O,  my  Father,  help  me  to  train  these  dear  children 
for  duty,  usefulness,  and  Heaven.  Yes,  I  know  dear 
Lord  Thy  grace  is  sufficient."  She  would  so  often 
repeat  those  words  to  us,  that  we  felt  that  we  must 
help  to  bring  each  other  up. 

Mother  was  not  strong,  but  she  had  a  powerful 
mind.  She  would  say  "think  of  the  trust  that's  com 
mitted  to  my  care;  an  immortal  soul  inhabiting  a  mor 
tal  body,  to  be  nursed  and  trained  and  educated  for 
time  and  eternity."  She  would  teach  us  that  obedi 
ence  was  the  foundation  of  moral  character;  and  if 
you  will  yield  your  will  to  your  parents,  you  have 
taken  the  first  step  toward  yielding  to  your  God,  your 
great  heavenly  Parent. 

Mother  \vould  try  to  have  us  go  to  our  beds  happy. 


2O  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS- 

As  soon  as  we  knew  how  to  bend  our  knee  she  would 
have  us  kneel  around  her,   with  her  hands  upon  our 
heads  while  we  repeated  our  little  prayers. 
When  gliding  round  my  mother's  knee, 

Made  up  of  innocence  and  love, 
Her  soft,  sweet  voice  would  sing  to  me 
And  tell  me  of  the  joys  above. 

At  the  age  of  three-score  and  ten,  while  I  write  it 
seems  that  I  can  feel  that  soft  hand  upon  my  silvery 
head  and  see  those  soft  blue  eyes  looking  into  mine. 

Oh,  my  angel  mother  !  I  feel  that  your  memories 
have  buoyed  me  up  through  sickness.  I  have  felt  that 
soft  kiss  upon  my  burning  brow.  Oh,  my  mother  ! 
While  I  am  writing  out  this  early  history,  composing 
in  song,  or  pointing  it  out  with  a  groan,  my  mind  runs 
back  to  one  of  the  best  of  homes;  prayer,  like  a  roof 
over  it;  peace,  the  atmosphere  within  it. 


My  Mother's  Bible. 

Parents,  the  personification  of  faith  in  trials,  and 
hope  in  darkness. 

The  two  pillars  in  that  home,  years  ago,  fell  into 
dust.  My  dear  home,  shall  I  ever  forget  thee?  Yes, 
when  memory  empties  its  urn  into  forgetfulness,  then, 
home  of  my  childhood,  I  will  forget  thee. 

To-night  those  old  visions  come  back  at  their  will: 
Far  back  in  my  musings  a  story  I'll  tell. 
About  my  dear  mother  that  I  loved  so  well, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  21 

Down  by  the  sea  where  my  childhood  was  passed, 
By  that  old  kitchen  fire  that  I  loved  to  the  last. 

The  parlors  would  shine  and  be  very  fair, 
But  we  loved  the  old  kitchen 
With  its  fire-place  there. 

When  we  came  from  our  school, 
At  the  even  tide;  • 

Dear  mother  was  ready  to  meet  us; 
We  would  sit  by  her  side. 

And  then  from  her  bible  that 

She  loved  so  well, 

Some  beautiful  story  to  us  she  would  tell. 

"She  would  tell  of  our  Savior, 
That  came  down  from  the  skies, 
And  make  it  so  simple, 
That  which  children  prize. 

When  we  took  our  books 
And  were  trying  to  explore 
All  those  hard  lessons 
That  children  deplore; 

Then  she  would  come  with  eyes  all  aglow, 
And  say,  "What's  the  matter, 
You  are  frowning  so." 

Jier  smile  was  so  gentle 
When  us  she  did  chide, 
Our  lessons  were  nothing 
With  her  for  our  guide. 

To-night  those  old  visions  come  back  with  a  will, 
I  see  the  blue  ocean,  the  trees  on  the  hill; 


22  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

And  that  lovely  strand  where  in  childhood  we'd 

slide 

And  watch. the  dark  waters  on  the  ebb  of  the  tide; 
And  I  see  that  dear  mother  in  a  spirit  form  glide, 
As  she  watches  her  daughter  on  the  ebb  of  her 

tide. 


My  Father's    Travels   by  Sea. 

I  spoke  of  my  father  being  a  sea  captain.  In  his 
youth  he  studied  law,  which  did  not  agree  with  his 
health.  His  physician  told  him  he  had  better  take  a 
sea  voyage.  He  crossed  ihe  ocean  and  traveled  one 
year.  In  that  time  he  had  regained  his  health.  He 
put  what  money  he  had  into  a  ship,  and  with  a  good 
navigator  he  sailed  her.  He  was  very  lucky  on  the 
ocean,  never  losing  but  one  ship  in  a  period  of  thirty 
years. 

He  took  his  law  books  aboard  the  ship.  Often  be 
fore  it  was  time  to  retire  I  would  sit  with  him  in  his 
state-room.  I  had  to  go  through  his  room  to  mine. 
Sometimes  I  would  say,  "Father,  you  are  studying 
late."  He  would  reply  :  "Fortune  is  usually  on  the 
side  of  the  industrious,  as  the  wind  and  waves  are  on 
the  side  of  the  best  navigator."  He  was  a  very  firm 
man  aboard  ship;  was  very  temperate,  and  would  not 
allow  his  seamen  to  drink  aboard  of  the  vessel.  He 
would  say:  "The  drunkard  is  at  the  mercy  of  the 
unprincipled." 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  23 

When  we  would  encounter  a  hard  storm  I  would 
look  anxiously  at  my  father.  I  did  not  dare  to  make 
any  trouble,  or  show  a  spirit  of  fear.  He  would  say 
to  me:  "My  daughter,  if  you  will  sail  the  ocean  with 
your  father,  you  must  help  the  ship  to  outride  the 
storm."  He  would  say:  "Read  your  bible;  it  tells 
you  how  Christ  calmed  the  waves;  look  to  your  God." 
Then  I  would  read  of  the  storm  on  Galilee,  where 
our  Saviour  was  asleep  on  the  pillow,  and  his  disciples 
had  almost  lost  faith  in  their  Lord. 


A  Storm  on  Lake  Galilee. 
Our  Saviour  exhausted,  weary  and  worn, 
Lies  down  in  the  boat  as  she  glided  along, 
Sleeping  so  sweetly  on  Lake  Galilee, 
When  a  terrible  storm  arose  on  that  sea. 

The  boat  rocked  high  upon  a  wave, 

It  seemed  the  lake  must  be  their  grave; 

His  disciples  aloud  did  mourn, 

They  knew  their  Master  was  tired  and  worn ; 

They  feared  His  love  for  them  had  flown. 

When  the  storm  was  very  high, 
Then  their  Master  heard  their  cry; 

He  rebuked  the  angry  sea, 

And  all  was  calm  on  Galilee. 


A  Description  of  Maine. 

I  give  a  small   sketch    of  Maine,  my   native  state. 
The  state  that  I  loved.     I  loved  it  because  it  was  my 


24  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

childhood's  home.  The  beautiful  coast  of  Maine  was 
served  by  a  regular  steamship  line  as  early  as  1823, 
one  year  before  I  was  born;  the  boats  running  from 
Boston  to  Portland,  and  from  there  to  Bath,  touching 
at  the  principle  places  on  the  coast. 

Kennebec  is  famous  wherever  its  blue  waters  flow, 
for  its  strong,  staunch  vessels.  Maine  is  blessed  with 
a  net-work  of  five  thousand  one  hundred  and  fifty-one 
streams,  the  chief  of  which  is  the  Penobscot,  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  miles  long,  and  navigable  to 
Augusta. 

The  rock  bound  coast  of  a  hundred  harbors  of 
Maine  extends  two  thousand  four  hundred  and  eighty- 
six  miles  in  a  line,  and  is  only  broken  by  the  great 
Passamaquoddy,  Penobscot,  and  Casco,  each  of  them 
abounding  in  beautiful  islands. 

Summer  resorts  are  very  plentiful  in  the  Northern 
Park,  which  is  far  above  the  range  of  malaria,  mos 
quitoes,  and  heat.  There  are  summer  hotels  and  cot 
tages  all  along  the  coast.  From  ancient  Kittery,  York, 
and  Wells,  Kennebunkport,  Old  Orchard  and  Scar 
borough,  with  many  lovely  islands  in  Casco  Bay. 

Maine  is  a  land  of  variable  winds,  gentle  rains, 
sudden  changes,  and  heavy  sea  fogs.  With  cooler 
summers  and  warmer  winters.  The  summers  are 
short,  with  hardly  five  months  between  frosts. 
Malarial  diseases  are  rare,  but  consumption  causes 
one-fourth  of  the  deaths. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  25 

One  of  the  most  charming  and  most  widely  known 
summer  resorts  in  America,  patronized  by  distinguished 
people  from  both  continents,  is  Poland  Springs, 
twenty-five  miles  north  of  Portland.  It  is  reached  bv 
a  delightful  stage  ride  from  Danville  Junction,  where 
the  Maine  Central  and  Grand  Trunk  cross.  Among 
the  venerable  pine  and  oak  groves  out  upon  the  hill 
tops  which  look  over  leagues  of  lakes  and  valleys,  and 
out  upon  the  White  Mountains,  stands  the  Poland 
Spring  House,  with  its  broad  frontage,  five  hundred 
feet  long,  and  all  modern  devices  for  giving  comfort 
and  luxury  to  people  that  wish  to  gain  their  health. 
Close  by  is  the  Mansion  House,  smaller,  but  very  at 
tractive,  and  open  all  the  year  round. 

The  United  States  buildings  include  the  beautiful 
white  marble  Post  Office,  and  the  granite  Custom 
House  at  Portland. 

Augusta  is  the  capital  of  Maine.  The  state  house 
on  the  hights  overlooks  the  Kennebec  river.  It  is  a 
beautiful  structure  of  white  marble.  It  dates  from 
eighteen  twenty-eight. 

In  eighteen  thirty-six  my  father,  Captain  Oliver 
Brown,  bought  of  government  eight  hundred  acres  of 
land  quarries  on  an  island  in  the  Penobscot  Bay,  called 
Vinalhaven.  He  kept  stone-cutters  for  several  years 
cutting  stone,  but  in  those  days  the  value  of  those 
quarries  was  not  known.  The  Bodwell  Vinalhaven 


26  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Company  has  quarried  the  longest  piece  of  stone  ever 
cut  in  the  world.  Its  length  was  one  hundred  and  fif 
teen  feet.  From  the  quarry  was  taken  much  of  the 
stone  for  the  Cincinnati  Post  Office  and  the  State  De 
partment  building  at  Washington. 

Vinalhaven  lays  in  the  Penobscot  bay  fifteen  miles 
from  Rockland.  Those  islands  are  covered  with  beau 
tiful  granite  in  many  colors.  Pen  cannot  describe  the 
delight  that  island  has  afforded  me.  The  island  is 
twelve  miles  long  and  seven  wide.  It  is  diversified 
into  mountains,  beautiful  valleys,  forests  and  strand, 
where  the  Atlantic's  blue  water  flowed  over  beaches 
of  white  sand. 

I  was  only  twelve  years  old  at  that  time,  but  I  loved 
that  island,  and  I  could  say,  be  it  mine  to  dwell  by  her 
rivulet  side,  and  make  my  home  by  her  bounding  tide. 

I  think  you  could  not  mention  a  small  fruit  that  did 
not  grow  on  that  island.  How  I  enjoyed  going  out 
with  those  fisher  girls  to  pick  berries.  When  we  were 
tired  of  picking  berries,  we  would  run  onto  the  ledges 
and  pick  wintergreens  out  of  the  seams. 

We  had  a  little  pleasure  boat  in  which  we 
used  to  go  back  and  forth  to  that  island.  When 
father's  ship  was  in  port  he  would  go  to  the  island 
to  look  after  his  quarries.  It  was  my  delight  to  go 
with  him,  and  I  often  went. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  27 

A  JVarroiv  JSscape. 

One  pleasant  September  morning  we  took  our  little 
boat  and  started  out  for  the  island.  Our  boat  was  a 
sloop  and  had  only  two  sails.  We  were  gliding  over 
the  water  in  our  beautiful  Sea  Bird.  We  had  fifteen 
miles  to  go  with  a  fair  wind.  It  would  take  one  hour. 
Father  took  the  mate  of  the  ship  along,  as  it  took 
two  to  care  for  the  boat.  We  had  not  got  half  out 
distance  when  to  our  horror  we  saw  a  large  shark  fol 
lowing  in  our  wake.  Father  was  a  very  firm  man, 
but  I  saw  fear  upon  his  face.  He  told  me  to  lie  down 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  I  obeyed  orders  without 
making  any  trouble.  I  expected  our  time  had  come. 

The  shark  would  come  alongside  of  the  boat  and 
raise  himself  to  get  his  breakfast,  but  we  were  very 
fortunate.  There  had  been  a  stick  of  timber  cut  for 
some  purpose  that  lay  in  the  boat.  We  could  truly 
say  that  was  our  life  defence.  Sometimes  we  would 
think  we  must  be  upset  by  the  monster,  but  our  little 
boat  would  battle  with  the  waves,  although  most  filled 
with  water.  The  mate  would  stand  firm  and  strike 
the  shark  with  all  his  strength,  which  was  great.  He 
fought  that  shark  for  six  long  miles.  He  never  left 
till  we  came  round  a  point  to  enter  the  harbor. 

Dear  reader,  you  may  be  assured  we  were  happy 
when  we  saw  that  shark  take  his  departure.  I  found 


28  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

myself  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  almost  covered 
with  water. 

My  father  said  he  had  sailed  the  ocean  twenty-five 
years  but  had  never  had  a  narrower  escape  than  he 
had  that  day.  The  mate  said  it  was  my  father's  man 
aging  the  boat  that  saved  us.  He  was  skilled  in  the 
swell  of  the  deep,  knew  how  to  trim  the  little  sails  to 
catch  the  breeze,  and  the  handling  of  that  little  helm 
to  force  the  boat  over  the  waves. 

So  it  is  in  all  cases.  Success  turns  on  the  use  we 
make  of  our  opportunities;  on  the  promptitude  with 
which  we  seize  the  openings  of  Providence;  on  the 
earnestness  of  the  character  we  bring  into  the  field. 

I  will  say  we  arrived  in  due  time,  and  went  to  the 
best  hotel  the  island  afforded,  that  was  but  one.  We 
refreshed  ourselves.  Those  who  could  not  borrow 
clothes  had  to  sit  in  the  sun  until  they  were  dry. 


A  Fearful  Storm. 

I  think  I  never  experienced  but  one  storm  that  I  felt 
the  fear  that  I  did  that  day.  Our  ship  was  ready :  we 
started  out  all  canvas  set,  a  fair  wind  and  a  sea  all 
sun. 

We  had  not  sailed  far  when  a  storm  overtook  us. 
The  clouds  became  lurid  and  glassy.  A  great  wind, 
harsh  and  tempestuous,  was  causing  the  ship  to  sag 
under  her  heavy  weight  of  canvas,  which  had  to  be 


LIFK  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  29 

clewed  up.  It  was  awful  to  hear  the  speaking 
trumpet  through  that  terrible  darkness;  every  man 
had  to  be  at  his  post,  and  obey  the  word  of  command. 
Nothing  could  be  seen,  only  by  the  bolts  of  light 
ning  which  would  make  us  stagger  with  pain.  It 
struck  terror  to  the  boldest  seamen ;  when  they  were 
not  obeying  commands  they  were  trembling,  dumb 
in  the  awful  silence. 

Just  before  the  morning  broke  my  father  came  to 
my  state-room  and  said,  "My  daughter,  we  see  a  faint 
yellow  light.  All  night  the  clouds  have  gathered 
against  us,  seemingly  determined  to  sink  our  ship,  but 
the  wind  has  changed;  it  is  now  in  our  favor;  cheer 
up,  my  daughter,  we  shall  see  home  and  mother  once 
more."  I  knew  that  night  that  one  thing  was  in  our 
favor.  We  were  sailing  across  that  ocean  whose 
waters  never  shrink,  and  where  the  keel  never  rubs 
the  bottom.  Father  never  liked  to  hang  upon  the 
coast  and  explore  lagoons,  or  swing  at  anchor  in  wind 
sheltered  bays. 

Father  would  sometimes  have  freight  up  the  lower 
Mississippi.  He  dreaded  that  place.  In  eighteen  forty 
before  improvements  had  been  made,  as  you  go  up 
the  sound,  you  would  find  a  perfect  maze  of  islands, 
bays  and  peninsulas.  Bayous  abounding  in  fish  and 
water  fowl.  Before  you  get  to  New  Orleans  the 
river  was  full  of  snags  and  sand  bars.  It  was  almost 


30  LIFE  SKETCHKS  AND  POEMS. 

impossible,  with  the  best  of  navigators,  to  go  up  the 
river.  Father  would  often  say  he  had  rather  take  an 
ocean  voyage. 

I  have  a  little  anecdote  to  relate.  Our  ship  lay  at 
the  quay,  taking  in  a  cargo  of  sugar.  One  morning  a 
gentleman  came  aboard  of  the  ship.  He  was  one  of 
the  planters  that  had  an  interest  in  the  cargo.  He 
came  to  invite  father  and  myself  to  dine  with  him.  I 
declined;  father  went.  He  said  he  was  served  with 
the  best  of  viands.  After  dinner  the  planter  invited 
him  to  see  his  wife,  who  had  recently  become  a  moth 
er.  Father  said  the  surroundings  were  of  the  richest 
tapestry,  and  everything  denoted  wealth  and  refine 
ment.  The  planter  stepped  to  the  bedside  and  raised 
the  curtain.  What  was  my  father's  astonishment  to 
see,  reclining  on  a  white  pillow,  a  black  woman,  the 
wife  of  a  white  man,  as  highly  cultivated  as  he  was. 
That  was  a  sample  of  New  Orleans. 

Lake  Ponchartrain  is  a  land-locked  salt  water  estu 
ary,  just  north  of  New  Orleans.  When  I  knew  that 
lake,  railroads  were  not  known  there. 

The  Mississippi  river  has  five  hundred  and  eighty- 
five  miles  of  navigable  waters  in  and  along  Louisiana. 
The  Mississippi  below  New  Orleans,  and  especially 
for  the  thirty-six  miles  of  coast  above  Port  Jackson, 
is  lined  with  beautiful  orange  groves.  The  Missis 
sippi  flows  down  the  country  on  the  top  of  a  ridge, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  31 

which  isjormed  by  its  deposits  of  drift.  Above  Ba 
ton  Rouge  the  river  is  bordered  by  bluffs,  which  at 
Port  Hudson,  reach  one  hundred  feet  high.  The 
Mississippi  contains  myriads  of  tall  cypress  trees,  with 
their  silken  foliage,  and  palmettoes,  with  their  vivid 
green  spears. 


Description    of  the  Mississippi. 
Lake  Itasca,  how  grand  you  must  be, 
Situated  so  high  above  the  sea, 
With  the  Father  to  recline  on  your  knee; 
History  says  it  is  quiet  and  still, 
Surrounded  by  foliage  on  the  top  of  a  hill. 

It  is  a  wonder,  it  raised  a  son, 

That  through  to  the  Gulf  its  course  would  run. 

Mississippi,  a  beautiful  name, 

It  has  rilled  the  world  with  its  beauty  and  fame. 

On  it  went  at  first  very  mild, 

After  leaving  home  it  was  no  more  a  child; 
The  first  that  was  done  that  history  defines, 
Was  three  little  steamboats  put  on  a  line 
To  carry  supplies  to  the  men  felling  pine. 

Time  rolled  on,  it  became  very  great; 

Its  breadth  was  one  thousand  two  hundred  feet, 

Before  St.  Anthony  it  did  meet, 

Then  with  a  rush  and  roar 

Over  St.  Anthony  it  did  pour. 

Roll  on  Mississippi,  through  our  beautiful  city, 
Fair  Minnie  is  waiting  for  a  long  embrace; 


32  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

She  thinks  she  has  the  heart  of  the  river, 
It  kisses  her  sweetly  on  both  sides  of  her  face. 

St.  Paul,  her  brother,  though  not  so  saintly 
As  his  namesake  of  old, 

Is  a  fine  gentleman,  has  a  great  command 
With  the  Father  of  Waters  bowing  before  him 

To  carry  our  shipping  to  every  land. 

Its  shores  are  bold  and  rocky  below. 
It  made  it  rough;  it  wanted  to  flow; 

Sixty  miles  further  you  will  see 

This  beautiful  river  widen  from  one  mile  to  three. 

Then  it  goes  on  twenty-five  miles  more; 

It  has  laid  out  a  beautiful  lake  on  its  shore. 
This  lake  is  beautiful  to  behold, 
With  its  sky-tinted  water  and  legends  of  old. 

It  tells  of  the  robber's  cave  and  the  sugar  loaf 

so  fine, 
And  the  Maiden's  Rock  near  the  French  border 

line, 

All  history  will  tell  you  the  same, 
That  lovely  lake  is  Pepin  by  name. 

Good-bye,  Lake  Pepin,  with  your  water  so  bright, 
I  am  through  for  the  Gulf.  I  must  run  all  night. 

It  rolls  away  with  a  great  bound, 

Through  fores; s  and  mountains  it  ripples 
around. 

It  has  invited  the  small  streams  to  help  fill  its  bowl ; 
Without  the  levee  it  could  not  be  controlled. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  33 

It  has  gone  south  one  thousand    three  hundred 
And  thirty  miles  to  the  confluence 
Of  the  Missouri,  which  is  very  mild. 

Mississippi  with  its  placid  tide 

Refuses  to  mingle  with  so  yellow  a  bride; 
On  it  goes,  it  has  got  quite  content 
To  mingle  with  water  of  so  low  a  descent; 

It  makes  it  feel  sluggish,  it  has  lost  its  pride, 

It  creeps  into  bayous  and  swamps  by  its  side. 

It    has    had  a   long   journey    from  its    mountain 

home, 
Four  thousand  three  hundred  and  eighty  miles  to 

roam. 

Old  Mississippi,  its  travel  most  done, 
Its  down  to  Orleans  in  a  very  warm  sun, 
With  the  magnolia  blooms  to  bow  at  its  feet, 
And  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  lull  it  to  sleep. 


A  Shipwreck. 

In  the  spring  of  eighteen  forty  my  father  sailed  on 
a  West  India  voyage,  taking  my  youngest  brother. 
He  always  wanted  one  of  the  family  with  him.  The}7 
had  sailed  three  days.  The  weatuer  was  fine  and  the 
voyage  looked  prosperous,  but  on  the  fourth  day  a 
very  bad  storm  came  up  which  lasted  three  days. 
The  ship  was  dismasted,  floating  at  the  mercy  of  the 
wind  and  waves.  The  time  soon  came  that  the  pumps 
would  not  free  the  ship.  Father  said  he  knew  from 


34  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

the  commencement  of  the  storm  that  the  ship  would 
be  lost.  It  went  down,  three  hundred  miles  from 
land. 

Then  came  the  anxiety  as  to  how  they  should  save 
themselves.  They  had  collected  several  days'  provis 
ions  which  they  took  with  them  into  the  life  boats. 
Father  said  they  had  no  trouble  after  the  ship  went 
down.  The  wind  ceased  blowing  and  the  angry  waves 
became  calm.  The  third  day  at  noon  they  discov 
ered  a  sail.  They  raised  a  signal  and  the  ship  bore 
down  and  took  them  aboard.  The  ship  was  bound 
for  the  East  Indies.  They  were  very  glad  to  be  res 
cued,  but  it  was  carrying  them  far  away  from  home. 

At  the  time  our  ship  went  down  a  homeward  bound 
vessel  saw  it,  but  the  storm  was  so  hard  that  they 
could  not  help  them.  The  captain  came  to  my  moth 
er  and  told  her  that  my  father's  ship  with  all  on  board 
had  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  He  said  he  saw 
her  go  down.  It  was  nearly  six  months  before  we  had 
tidings  from  them.  We  mourned  them  as  dead,  sup 
posing  they  had  all  perished.  In  those  days  it  was  an 
eighteen  months'  voyage  to  the  East  Indies  and  re 
turn.  Judge  of  our  surprise  when  a  ship  came  in 
bringing  news  that  father  and  brother  would  soon  be 
at  home.  That  was  better  to  us  than  the  prodigal  son. 
We  did  certainly  make  a  feast  and  rejoiced  with  those 
that  we  loved. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  35 

My  father's  loss  was  very  heavy,  he  owned  most  of 
his  ship  and  cargo.  His  insurance  in  the  custom 
house  had  been  out  forty-eight  hours  when  the  ship 
went  down. 

Death  of  a  Little  Sister. 

He  could  not  be  reconciled  to  his  loss;  we  were 
alarmed  about  him.  In  a  few  weeks  after  he  returned 
home  my  little  sister,  five  years  of  age,  her  papa's 
idol,  was  taken  sick,  and  in  a  few  days  was  laid  in  the 
silent  tomb.  It  seemed  that  God  had  taken  that  way 
to  bring  him  back  to  realize  what  he  was  doing.  He 
then  felt  that  God  was  just  to  punish  him  for  mourn 
ing  over  the  loss  of  properly.  Happily,  before  it  was 
too  late,  his  mind  was  turned  into-  a  more  healthy 
channel. 

The  death  of  my  little  sister  had  tended  to  make 
him  more  serious  in  the  ways  of  religion.  I  think  if 
it  had  not  been  for  my  mother's  influence,  my  father 
would  have  lost  his  reason,  the  loss  of  his  ship  preyed 
so  heavily  upon  his  mind.  Mother  created  about  him 
an  atmosphere  of  hope  and  cheerfulness,  and  nowhere 
did  the  sunshine  of  her  love  seem  so  bright  as  when 
she  was  doing  something  to  make  him  drop  the  stu 
por  that  he  had  fallen  into. 

Mother  would  often  say  to  father,  "A  life  well  spent, 
a  character  uprightly  sustained,  is  no  slight  legacy  to 
leave  to  one's  children.  It  is  a  lesson  in  virtue,  and  the 


36  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

best  kind  of  riches."  I  knew  that  mother  was  kind 
and  good,  and  by  being  with  her  she  would  not  fail  to 
impart  some  of  it  to  us.  I  remember  when  I  was 
young  the  influence  she  would  use  over  my  father.  It 
was  not  so  much  in  religious  discussions,  as  she  gave 
him  a  deeply  religious  nature.  Mv  father  became 
more  self  controlled,  and  went  back  to  the  study  of 
law.  He  said  the  death  of  his  dear  little  girl  had 
taught  him  a  lesson  that  never  would  be  effaced  from 
his  memory. 

My  father  was  a  strong,  original,  and  even  a  fiery 
nature,  and  yet  of  extreme  tenderness  and  sensibility. 
A  strong  temper  is  not  necessarily  a  bad  temper,  but 
the  stronger  the  temper  the  greater  is  the,  need  of 
self-control. 

Father  was  not  poor  as  to  houses  and  lands,  but  it 
was  very  hard  after  sailing  his  ship  thirty  years,  and 
he  felt  he  was  too  far  advanced  in  years  to  invest 
again.  His  nature  was  such  that  he  could  sail  for  no 
one  but  himself.  He  could  not  be  brought  down  to  in 
vest  in  small 'things.  He  would  say  that  any  class  of 
men  that  lived  from  hand  to  mouth  will  ever  be  an  in- 

* 

ferior  class.  They  will  necessarily  remain  impotent 
and  helpless;  hanging  on  to  the  skirts  of  society,  and 
having  no  respect  for  themselves,  they  will  fail  to  se 
cure  the  respect  of  others. 

As  daylight  can  be  seen  through  very  small  holes, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  37 

so  little  things  will  illustrate  a  person's  character.  In 
deed,  character  consists  in  little  acts  well  and  honora 
bly  performed.  Gentleness  about  our  homes  is  like 
the  silent  influence  of  light,  which  gives  color  to  all 
nature.  It  is  far  more  powerful  than  loudness  or  force. 
The  in- bred  politeness  that  springs  from  righthearted- 
ness  and  kindly  feelings  is  no  exclusive  rank  or  sta 
tion. 

The  seamen  of  the  ocean  are  considered  to  be  a 
rough  set  of  men,  and  so  they  are,  as  a  body.  My 
father  would  not  allow  us  to  speak  to  one  of  his  sea 
men,  excepting  to  some  of  the  officers  who  dined  in 
our  cabin  with  us. 

I  have  seen  brave  young  men  who  did  not  fear  to 
risk  their  lives  to  save  any  of  the  ship's  crew.  I  have 
seen  thejn  in  a  sudden  storm,  when  the  sea  would 
make  a  clean  sweep  over  the  ship,  and  you  would  think 
there  was  not  one  vestige  of  hope  for  the  vessel,  such 
was  the  fury  of  the  wind  and  the  violence  of  the 
waves,  when  you  would  think  that  nothing  would 
tempt  a  seaman  into  a  boat.  But  let  a  man  be  swept 
overboard,  which  Was  often  the  case,  and  you  would 
see  how  soon  they  would  run  down  the  life  boats  into 
the  surf,  and  leap  in  and  dash  through  the  breakers 
amidst  the  cheers  of  those  on  board.  How  the  boat 
would  live  in  such  a  sea  would  seem  almost  a  miracle ; 
but  in  a  few  minutes,  impelled  by  the  strong  arms  of 


38  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

those  gallant  men,  she  flew  on  and  reached  their  com 
rade,  catching  him  on  the  top  of  a  wave.  My  father 
would  say,  "There  is  gentlemanly  heroism." 


True  Christian  Living. 

True  Christian  living  in  the  world  is  like  a  ship 
sailing  on  the  ocean.  It  is  not  the  ship  being  in  the 
water  which  will  sink  it,  but  the  water  getting  into 
the  ship.  So,  in  like  manner,  the  Christian  is  not  ru 
ined  by  living  in  the  world,  which  he  must  needs  do 
while  he  remains  in  the  body,  but  by  the  \vorld  living 
in  him.  The  world  in  the  heart  has  ruined  thousands 
of  immortal  souls. 

How  careful  is  the  mariner  to  guard  against  leak 
age,  lest  the  water,  entering  into  the  vessel,  should,  by 
degrees,  cause  the  vessel  to  sink.  Ought  not  the 
Christian  to  watch  and  pray  lest  Satan  and  the  world 
should  find  some  unguarded  inlet  to  his  heart. 


The  Rule  of   Three. 

The  sea,  the  sea,  the  open  sea, 
The  fresh,  the  blue,  the  ever  free, 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 
It  runneth  the  world's  wide  region  'round 

When  I  was  young  and  in  my  pride, 
On  the  sea  I  loved  to  ride, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  39 

With  its  bounding  billows  rolling  high; 
The  mad  waves  would  nearly  touch  the  sky. 

But  now  I  am  old  I  cannot  roam; 

My  hair  is  gray  as  the  ocean's  foam, 
But  my  heart  is  young  and  leaps  to  hear 
The  ocean  scenes  that  are  wild  and  drear. 

When  our  ship  from  land  was  far  away, 
And  the  rippling  water  round  did  play, 
Then  I  would  sit  by  my  father's  knee 
While  he  taught  to  me  the  rule  of  three. 

Sometimes  I  would  wish  in  my  childish  glee 

That  a  storm  would  come  and  awake  the  sea, 
Then  how  happy  I  would  be; 
There  would  be  no  more  of  the  rule  of  three. 

When  our  ship  lay  at  the  quay, 

Or  was  anchored  in  the  bay, 
Gathering  shells  would  be  my  pride 
Along  with  my  little  negro  guide. 

Those  were  happy  days  for  me, 

Far  away  o'er  the  deep  blue  sea, 
Selecting  shells  that  were  very  fair 
To  give  to  my  friends  for  souvenirs. 

But  that  ship  that  lay  at  the  quay 

Or  was  anchored  in  the  bay, 
Long  ago  was  swept  away, 
Now  in  ruin  and  decay, 

And  that  dear  father  no  more  I'll  see, 

Who  taught  to  me  the  rule  of  three; 
He  like  the  ship  has  fled 
And  is  numbered  with  the  dead. 


40  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

God  has  written  upon  the  little  violet  of  the  field  that 
no  one  liveth  to  himself.  I  saw  somewhere  the  other 
other  day  a  sentence  like  this :  "The  truest  courtesy 
is  the  truest  Christianity."  This  is  not  simply  saying,  I 
take  it,  that  a  Christian  will  be  a  gentleman ;  it  teaches 
that  the  spirit  of  self-denial,  of  foregoing  personal  ad 
vantages  for  the  sake  of  favoring  another,  is  the  root 
and  substance  of  the  regenerated  life. 

In  the  collisions  of  oersonal  interests  through  the 
day,  if  we  are  more  careful  to  favor  ourselves;  to  grat 
ify  our  own  wishes  rather  than  others,  I  care  not  what 
name  we  bear  or  what  profession  we  make,  the  spirit 
of  the  Master  is  not  in  us.  But  if  we  are  the  possess 
ors  of  that  true  spirit  it  will  teach  us  so  to  live  that  we 
will  not  be  afraid  to  die.  "Lead  us  not  into  tempta 
tion"  should  ever  remind  us  of  our  utter  weakness 
and  absolute  dependence  on  Almighty  God. 

I  have  known  many  who  gave  brilliant  promise, 
who  have  dazzled  only  to  disappoint.  There  was  a 
cankering  influence  for  gold  that  ruined  the  man  with 
all  his  wealth,  while  his  friend  and  schoolmate  chose 
that  part  that  would  never  be  taken  from  him. 

How  great  a  bounty  and  blessing  it  is  to  hold  the 
royal  gift  of  the  soul  so  that  there  shall  be  music  for 
some,  fragrance  to  others,  and  life  to  all.  It  would  be 
no  unworthy  thing  to  live  for  each  other's  comfort;  to 
scatter  sunshine  where  only  clouds  and  shadows  reign; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  41 

to  fill  the  atmosphere  where  earth's  weary  toilers 
must  stand  with  a  brightness  which  they  cannot  fill  for 
themselves,  and  which  they  long  to  enjoy. 

If  we  say  anything  about  a  neighbor  or  friend,  or 
even  a  stranger,  we  should  say  no  ill.  Social  conver 
sation,  as  known  to  every  observer,  is  largely  made  up 
of  what  is  best  understood  by  the  term  of  scandal. 
"Blessed  is  the  peacemaker."  We  had  better  a  thou 
sand  times  set  dumb,  than  to  open  our  lips,  ever  so  el 
oquent,  in  the  disparagement  of  others.  We  have  the 
Golden  Rule.  If  we  do  unto  others  as  we  would  that 
others  should  do  unto  us,  we  shall  b.e  exceedingly  care 
ful  not  to  speak  ill  words  about  them. 


The  Golden   Line. 

Two  little  boys  stood  at  two  mothers'  knees, 
Weaving  a  web  their  hearts  to  please; 
One  wove  in  a  golden  line, 
The  other  wove  truth  that  was  divine. 

One  the  financial  valley  trod, 

The  other  traveled  the  highway  to  God. 

The  one  in  the  valley  with  his  golden  line, 

Soon  into  a  cable  he  did  twine. 

The  one  in  the  highway  said,  "Dear  brother,  be 
ware, 

God's  highway  is  not  troubled  with  glare; 
Because  you  flourish  in  worldly  affairs, 
Don't  be  haughty  and  put  on  airs." 


42  LIEE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

He  did  not  heed  what  his  friend  had  told, 
His  mind  was  absorbed  in  the  glittering  gold; 

He  strove  hard  for  that  paltry  pelf, 

To  lay  away  upon  his  shelf. 

The  stock  went  down,  they  had  to  fail, 
He  .bought  it  up,  and  was  king  of  the  rail; 
Then  he  was  proud  and  turned  up  his  nose 
At  poorer  people  in  plainer  clothes. 

The  one  on  the  highway  would  still  claim  his  kin. 

He  hoped  his  brother  in  the  valley  to  win; 

You  will  find,  dear  brother,  if  you  will  but  try, 
That  the  best  of  the  world  is  a  path  to  the  sky. 

Now  the  story  will  soon  be  told, 

He  heeded  not  with  his  cable  of  gold; 

In  a  very  short  time  the  world  was  shocked, 
He  was  king  of  commerce  and  ruled  the  stock. 

He  rushed  along  with  his  great  wealth, 

Never  thinking  about  his  health, 

Until  Death  came  and  made  a  decree — 

He  said,  -'You  must  go  over  the  river  with  me." 

He  said,  "Oh,  no,  the  river  is  cold, 
Your  boat  is  small,  it  won't  hold  my  gold." 
But  Death  came  near,  and  was  very  bold, 
He  took  him  away — he  left  his  gold. 

And  the  one  on  the  road  that  led  to  God 
Took  the  same  steps  that  Christ  had  trod; 
''Give  dear  Savior  a  heart  wholly  thine, 
A  heart  that  can  feel  my  beloved  is  mine." 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  43 

He  goes  down  to  the  river  with  a  heart  full  of 

love, 
Clad  in  that  armor  sent  down  from  above, 

All  stains  washed  away,  in  robes  of  pure  white, 
He  will  dwell  with  his  Saviour  in  endless   de 
light. 

To  Geneva. 

Geneva,  my  own  little  darling, 
A  blossom  of  sweet-scented  May, 

I  ask  not  a  life  for  you  darling, 
All  radiant,  as  others  have  done, 

But  that  life  may  have  enough  shadow 
To  temper  the  glare  of  the  sun. 


Never  Mind. 
What's  the  use  of  always  fretting 

At  the  trials  we  shall  find 
Ever  strewn  along  our  pathway? 

Travel  on,  and  never  mind. 

Travel  onward,  ever  hoping, 
Cast  no  lingering  look  behind 

At  the  trials  once  encountered, 
Look  ahead  and  never  mind. 

What  is  past,  is  passed  forever, 
Let  all  fretting  be  resigned, 

It  will  never  help  the  matter, 
Do  your  best  and  never  mind. 

And  if  those  why  might  befriend  you 
Whom  the  ties  of  nature  bind 


44  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Should  refuse  to  do  their  duty, 
Look  to  Heaven  and  never  mind. 

Fate  may  threaten,  clouds  may  lower, 
Enemies  may  be  combined; 

If  your  trust  in  God  is  steadfast 
He  will  help  you,  never  mind. 


Not  Lost. 

The  look  of  sympathy,  the  gentle  word 
Spoken  so  low  that  only  angels  heard, 
The  secret  art  of  pure  self-sacrifice, 
Unseen  by  men  but  marked  by  angel's  eyes, 
These  are  not  lost. 

The  sacred  music  of  a  tender  strain 
Wrung  from  a  poet's  heart  by  grief  and  pain, 
And  chanted  timidly  with  doubt  and  fear 
To  busy  crowds  who  scarcely  stop  to  hear, 
This  is  not  lost. 

The  silent  tears  that  fall  at  dead  of  night 
Over  soiled  robes  that  once  were  pure  and  white; 
The  prayers  that  rise   like  incense  from  the  soul. 
Longing  for  Christ  to  make  it  clean  and  whole, 
These  are  not  lost. 

The  happy  dreams  that  gladden'd  all  our  youth, 
When  dreams  had  less  of  self  and  more  of  truth; 
The  childhood  faith,  so  tranquil  and  so  sweet, 
Which  set  like  Mary  at  the  Master's  feet, 
These  are  not  lost. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  45 

Not  lost,  Oh  Lord,  for  in  thy  City  bright 
Our  eyes  shall  see  the  past  by  clearer  light, 
And  things  long  hidden  from  our  gaze  below 
Thou  wilt  reveal,  and  we  shall  surely  know, 
They  are  not  lost. 


I  had  a  sister  younger  than  myself.  She  married  a 
sea  captain.  My  people  were  very  much  opposed  to 
the  union,  but  it  was  impossible  to  make  an  impression 
on  her.  When  a  woman  makes  up  her  mind  that  she 
is  in  love,  and  that  she  really  has  an  idol,  you  might  as 
well  go  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  order  the  Mississippi 
to  roll  back  to  its  mother  lake,  as  to  think  of  preventing 
a  union  between  those  parties.  Her  husband  was 
wealthy  and  able  to  sail  his  ship,  but  was  very  unfor 
tunate.  He  was  always  meeting  with  some  trouble. 
That  was  why  father  was  opposed  t:>  the  union.  He 
knew  my  sister  loved  the  ocean,  and  would  most  as 
suredly  sail  with  her  husband. 

The  first  voyage  after  their  marriage  was  a  fair 
one.  She  said  she  would  turn  his  luck,  but  father 
laughed  at  her  folly.  He  told  her  luck  was  in  the 
management  of  the  ship.  His  vessel  was  bound  for 
the  East  Indies.  They  set  sail  with  a  fair  wind,  and 
everything  favorable.  They  had  sailed  ten  days  when 
they  encountered  a  heavy  storm  which  swept  the  sea 
for  three  days;  on  the  fourth  night  the  captain  went 
to  his  wife's  state-room  and  told  her  the  vessel  was 


46  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS- 

sinking,  and  that  if  she  had  a  prayer  to  offer,  it  was 
time  she  was  about  it.  He  told  her  the  seamen  had 
left  the  pumps,  and  nothing  could  save  the  vessel  from 
sinking.  She  said,  "  I  will  go  up  and  pump  awhile 
before  I  stop  to  say  that  prayer;  God  says,  '  faith  with 
out  works  is  dead.'  '  She  went  up  in  the  violence  of 
the  storm,  and  commenced  to  pump.'  When  the  sea 
men  saw  the  captain's  wife  trying  to  save  the  ship, 
they  took  courage  and  went  to  work.  In  one  hour 
the  storm  abated,  and  they  were  saved.  She  said 
she  felt  to  thank  her  Heavenly  Father  that  He  had 
rescued  them  from  a  watery  grave. 

They  arrived  in  due  time,  and  had  a  prosperous 
voyage.  After  that  voyage,  she  boarded  in  South 
Carolina  one  year.  That  was  her  husband's  port  at 
that  time.  While  there  she  had  a  beautiful  little  girl, 
all  that  she  ever  had  by  that  husband.  When  it  was 
six  months  old  she  brought  it  with  its  nurse  home  to 
my  mother. 


Shipwreck  and  Loss  of  Life. 

She  had  a  passion  for  the  sea,  and  would  go  with 
her  husband.  She  said  she  had  a  presentiment,  and 
must  not  take  the  babe  on  that  voyage. 

It  was  destined  for  a  longer  life  than  it  would  have 
had  if  she  had  taken  it  with  her.  When  she  left  home 
she  said,  I  know  we  shall  have  trouble  before  we  re- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  47 

turn.  Dear  mother,  never  let  my  sweet  babe  go  out 
of  the  family's  care.  And  see  that  she  is  brought  up 
and  taught  as  you  taught  us. 

Then  she  bid  us  good  bye,  and  took  the  boat  for 
South  Carolina,  to  meet  her  husband. 

They  took  the  same  voyage  to  the  East  Indies. 
When  not  far  from  the  same  latitude  they  were  in 
when  they  encountered  the  first  storm,  there  arose 
one  far  more  terrible  than  the  first.  They  were  four 
days  with  the  sea  washing  over  them.  The  fifth 
night  the  ship  struck  a  shoal,  and  in  a  few  moments 
was  in  fragments. 

My  sister  said  she  and  her  husband  promised  each 
other  they  would  meet  death  together.  They  started 
out  on  some  small  piece  of  the  vessel,  it  was  very 
dark  and  the  sea  was  running  high.  Her  husband 
was  a  good  swimmer,  but  he  was  washed  off  while 
she  clung  to  the  wreck,  which  was  near  a  reef  of 
ledges. 

In  the  morning,  she  saw  a  man  on  the  ledge,  and 
thought  it  was  her  husband.  The  waves  were  wash 
ing  her  on  to  the  ledge,  and  she  strove  with  all  her 
strength  to  cling  to  the  wreck  until  she  could  reach 
the  shore.  The  man  that  she  hoped  was  her  hus 
band  was  the  second  mate  of  the  ship.  After  she 
was  washed  on  to  the  ledge  she  had  to  cling  to  the 
rocks  to  prevent  herself  from  being  washed  off. 


48  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Two  nights  and  three  days  they  remained  on  that 
ledge  where  the  sea  nearly  washed  over  them.  They 
could  see  ships  passing  but  those  on  the  ships  could 
not  see  them,  the  ledge  being  nearly  level  with  the 
ocean. 

My  sister  said  she  knew  her  strength  \\as  leaving 
her,  and  that  she  could  cling  to  those  rocks  but  a  few 
hours  at  the  most.  She  said  she  felt  like  leaving 
those  rocks  and  clinging  to  the  cross.  It  appeared 
that  God  heard  their  prayers.  A  small  piece  of  tim 
ber  floated  down  against  the  ledge;  the  mate  secured 
it  and  took  his  flannel  shirt  and  made  a  signal.  In 
one  hour  a  vessel  bore  down  to  them  and  took  them 
off  the  ledge.  My  sister  said  she  knew  when  they 
took  them  from  the  ledge,  but  that  was  the  last  she 
knew  for  three  days. 

The  ship  was  homev/ard  bound,  and  the  captain 
knew  her  husband.  She  had  the  best  of  care.  When 
the  ship  arrived  in  Boston,  at  the  quay,  the  first  man 
she  saw  was  her  husband.  He  said  he  had  been  look 
ing  for  some  one  every  day,  but  could  not  tell  \vho. 
After  leaving  his  wife  he  swam  some  distance  and 
came  in  contact  with  a  jury  mast  from  the  ship.  He 
clung  to  that  and  was  taken  off  next  day.  There 
were  eighteen  men  including  officers.  No  one  else 
was  ever  heard  from.  No  doubt  they  all  met  a  wa 
tery  grave. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  49 

The  ship  was  heavily  insured  and  the  captain  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  fit  up  another  ship,  and  they  were 
soon  on  the  wide  ocean  again.  That  was  his  last  hard 
encounter  by  water.  My  sister  sailed  with  him  five 
years  after  that,  when  he  took  the  yellow  fever  and 
died  in  a  southern  port.  My  sister  nursed  him  through 
his  illness  and  did  not  take  the  fever.  She  laid  him 
away  in  the  sunny  south  and  returned  home  to  her 
little  daughter. 


Death  Hath  no  Sting. 

O 

Jesus  came.  He  died  to  save. 

Oh,  Death  it  came  to  open  the  grave, 

Our  lives  to  demand. 

We  are  happy  to  know  when  it  lays  us  low 

It  has  no  more  command. 

It  will  be  our  turn  to  sing, 

Oh,  Death,  where  is  thy  sting, 

When  we  enter  that  beautiful  land. 


A  Marriage  Under  Difficulties. 
I  have  a  little  anecdote  to  write.  People  say  that 
no  book  is  complete  unless  it  is  spiced  with  love.  My 
sister  used  to  tell  this  story,  and  sometimes  got  very 
mirthful  over  it.  After  Captain  Smith,  her  husband, 
lost  his  ship  and  took  a  new  one,  my  sister  took  one 
of  her  schoolmates  aboard  the  ship  with  her,  for  a 


50  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

companion.  They  were  very  much  attached  to  each 
other.  The  young  lady's  name  was  Miss  Barton. 
Her  father  was  a  retired  sea  captain,  but  had  run 
through  with  most  of  his  property.  They  were  proud 
but  poor.  Miss  Barton  was  called  the  belle  of  Rock- 
land.  She  had  a  fine  voice  and  was  very  fascinating. 

Captain  Smith's  first  mate  was  a  Scotchman,  by  the 
name  of  McPherson.  He  was  six  feet  tall,  of  a  very 
commanding  appearance,  and  was  highly  blessed  with 
self  esteem.  He  had  a  fine  education,  and  was 
a  navigator  who  could  sail  a  ship  to  all  parts  of  the 
world.  His  father  lived  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland 
and  was  a  Scottish  chief,  and  very  well  acquainted 
with  Miss  Barton's  people,  who  were  highly  honora 
ble,  but  he  felt  himself  very  much  above  them.  This 
he  was  not  at  all  backward  in  making  known,  and 
often  hurt  Miss  Barton's  feelings. 

They  had  been  out  on  an  East  India  voyage  for 
several  weeks  and  the  air  of  the  tropical  climate  had 
become  very  genial.  Miss  Barton  and  my  sister  would 
occupy  the  quarter  deck  in  the  bright  moonlight  eve 
nings.  They  were  both  fine  singers,  and  the  time 
went  by  very  pleasantly.  Time  passed  on  and  Mc 
Pherson  became  very  moody.  His  appetite  failed 
him;  he  did  not  appear  like  the  same  gallant  man,  but 
looked  crestfallen  and  forsaken.  The  captain  went  to 
the  mate's  room  one  morning  with  the  intention  of 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  51 

asking  him  what  was  the  matter,  although  he  was 
sure  it  was  a  love  affair.  He  knew  the  disposition  of 
the  mate,  and  that  he  wrould  have  to  be  very  careful 
how  he  approached  the  subject.  The  captain  said, 

"I  have  come  this  morning  to  inquire  after  your 
health,  and  also  after  your  heart.  I  believe  you  are  in 
love." 

The  mate  replied,  "I  suppose  you  are  anxious  to 
know.  The  truth  is,  I  am  in  love,  and  I  detest  my 
self.  What  wrould  my  people  say  if  they  knew  their 
son  was  in  love  with  a  poor  girl,  obscure  and  un 
known.  But  I  can  say  she  is  lovely  and  good.  Why 
do  you  laugh  and  then  look  so  grave,  Captain?" 

"I  think,"  answered  the  captain,  "it  would  be  im 
possible  for  you  to  marry  Miss  Barton,  if  you  do 
think  that  you  are  her  superior  and  higher  in  position. 
If  you  do  surpass  her  in  rank,  you  are  not  worthy  of 
her.  I  have  known  Miss  Barton  from  a  child.  She 
has  been  my  wife's  companion  from  childhood,  and  no 
one  can  bring  a  stain  upon  her  character.  She  is 
pure;  and  you,  with  all  your  wealth  and  position,  can 
not  say  that  of  yourself." 

"Do  you  think  for  one  moment  that  Miss  Barton 
would  not  marry  me  if  I  should  ask  her?" 

,"I  think  you  would  have  to  change  from  what  you 
are  now,  before  you  can  gain  Miss  Barton's  hand," 
answered  the  captain. 


52  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

He  had  never  dreamed  of  that  part.  He  knew  his 
position  and  command,  and  thought  if  he  ordered,  he 
must  be  obeyed  as  much  as  though  he  was  speaking 
through  the  trumpet  to  his  men.  But  lie  found  his 
mistake.  Then  he  commenced  to  arouse  himself  for 
action.  The  captain  went  to  his  wife's  room  and  told 
her  about  the  mate,  and  also  told  her  to  tell  Miss  Bar 
ton  to  beware  of  him  at  present.  My  sister  told  her. 
She  seemed  very  much  surprised,  then  she  looked  pen 
sive  and  said:  "Mrs.  Smith,  I  would  never  marry  that 
man,  with  all  his  honor,  wealth,  and  royal  estates." 

For  several  days  Miss  Barton  kept  out  of  his  \vav, 
and  would  not  even  dine  at  the  table  with  him. 

Time  passed  on.  and  with  fair  winds  they  arrived  at 
their  destined  port  in  the  Indies.  That  lovely  land  is 
very  fair,  and  the  atmosphere  is  laden  with  the  per 
fume  of  its  luscious  fruit.  How  happy  they  were  af 
ter  a  four  month's  voyage,  to  once  more  set  their  feet 
upon  land. 

No  one  can  imagine  how  lovely  those  tropical  moon 
light  nights  are  unless  they  have  been  in  that  land. 
My  sister  said  Miss  Barton  was  entranced  by  her  sur 
roundings,  as  she  had  never  been  in  a  tropical  climate 
before.  Sister  said  she  felt  a  great  responsibility  for 
her  charge,  knowing  if  the  mate  ever  gained  his  suit 
it  would  be  there.  The  captain  had  talked  with  him 
several  times  and  had  found  him  quite  subdued.  He 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  53 

said,  -'Captain,  1  believe  Miss  Barton  has  a  secret 
power  to  charm.  She  has  an  influence  over  me  that 
I  cannot  resist  when  I  am  in  her  presence.  She  en 
chants  me  by  an  irresistible  power  that  I  cannot  ac 
count  for.  I  could  be  happy  to  be  her  slave."  The 
captain  told  him  that  God  had  sent  that  upon  him  to 
subdue  his  foolish  pride. 

No  more  was  heard  about  his  "position;"  he  was 
like  a  lamb,  and  asked  the  captain  if  he  could  have  an 
interview  with  Miss  Barton.  He  said  his  love  was 
strictly  honorable,  and  he  wished  to  make  her  his 
bride.  The  captain  told  his  wife  that  she  had  better 
try  to  influence  Miss  Barton,  for  he  did  not  think  she 
would  ever  get  a  better  husband  or  one  who  would 
love  her  as  he  did. 

The  captain,  his  wife,  and  Miss  Barton  took  a  stroll 
by  moonlight  in  a  beautiful  grove  and  the  mate  fol 
lowed  them.  He  thought  it  was  very  hard  to  be  kept 
in  such  suspense,  still  he  knew  how  scornful  he  had 
been  and  he  could  not  blame  her  in  his  heart  for  her 
pride.  He  met  her  face  to  face  and  stopping  her  in  the 
path,  commenced  to  make  an  apology.  She  straighten 
ed  herself  up  and  looking  him  defiantly  in  the  face,  said, 
"Mr.  McPherson,  I  will  receive  no  apology  from  you, 
neither  will  I  have  any  conversation  with  you,"  then 
turned  and  fled  swiftly  down  to  the  ship  and  went  to 


54  LITE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

her  state  room.  Her  heart  was  bursting  with  con 
flicting  emotions. 

Sister  followed  her  to  her  room  and  found  her  in 
tears.  She  said,  "Please,  Mrs  Smith,  do  not  invite 
me  out  again  while  we  are  on  this  voyage." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  sister. 

"I  met  Mr.  McPherson  and  would  not  listen  to  his 
apology,"  sobbed  the  girl. 

Miss  Barton  was  not  seen  again  by  the  mate  for 
some  time,  and  it  caused  him  to  feel  very  moody. 
The  captain  was  really  sorry  for  him  for  he  was  in 
terested  in  his  welfare.  He  was  a  good  seaman  and 
had  great  ability  as  a  mate;  a  man  of  that  kind  was 
not  often  found. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,"  said  the 
captain. 

The  mate  flushed,  but  said,  "You  can  do  something 
for  me  if  you  will  try.  You  know  I  love  that  girl, 
and  you  can  use  your  influence  for  me." 

"I  am  not  in  a  position  to  help  you  much,"  the  cap 
tain  answered.  "I  would  not  dare  to  approach  Miss 
Barton  on  the  subject.  All  that  can  be  done  will  be 
through  my  wife's  influence.  I  will  talk  with  her.  for 
I  think  she  is  interested  in  your  welfare." 

Eight  bells  were  striking  when  the  captain  left  the 
mate  at  the  close  of  their  interview.  He  took  out  his 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  55 

watch  to  compare  time  with  the  bells  and  thought, 
I  shall  have  one  hour  to  visit  with  my  wife. 

The  ladies  were  sitting  together  as  he  entered  his 
wife's  room.  Miss  Barton  arose,  excused  herself  and 
retired  to  her  room. 

The  captain  said,  "I  have  one  hour  that  must  be 
passed  in  laying  plans  for  our  mate.  He  would  make 
Miss  Barton  a  good  husband.  She  is  poor  and  de 
pendent  and  she  needs  a  protector.  What  influence 
do  you  think  you  can  have  over  her?" 

My  sister  replied,  "With  her  feelings  at  the  present, 
we  could  not  influence  her.  If  we  could  persuade 
her  to  dine  with  him,  she  might  possibly  overcome 
that  feeling.  It  seems  very  heartless  to  leave  her  to 
pass  her  time  in  her  room  while  we  enjoy  our  repast. 
I  think  I  will  say  to  her,  'It  is  some  trouble  for  the 
cook  to  keep  your  meals  warm.'  That  will  probably 
bring  her  out,  but  you  must  caution  the  mate." 

Miss  Barton  and  my  sister  passed  most  of  their 
time  while  the  ship  was  taking  in  her  cargo,  in  the 
groves  or  on  the  strands  gathering  shells,  and  their 
time  was  passed  very  pleasantly.  At  last  everything 
was  ready,  the  cargo  all  aboard,  including  innumerable 
boxes  of  shells,  sea  moss,  and  sub-marine  plants  for 
home  use;  the  stevedores  were  dismissed,  and  bid 
ding  farewell  to  the  Indies,  set  the  sails  for  our 
native  land,  "Sweet  home."  Then  you  could  hear  the 


56  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

seamen  singing  "Sweet  home"  when  they  were  once 
more  on  the  bounding  billows. 

There  was  plenty  of  time  to  examine  the  collection 
made  while  on  their  tour;  shells  of  every  hue  of  the 
rainbow,  radiant  in  their  beautiful  colors,  and  the  time 
passed  rapidly  while  they  were  making  them  into 
bouquets  as  souvenirs  for  friends.  The  weather  was 
fair  and  the  wind  was  in  their  favor  and  they  were 
swiftly  nearing  their  native  land. 

Sister  persuaded  Miss  Barton  to  dine  with  them. 
She  told  her  it  was  very  annoying  to  the  cook,  as  he 
had  to  prepare  the  meals  for  the  seamen  as  soon  as 
theirs  were  over,  and  under  these  circumstances  she 
dined  with  them.  The  mate  put  on  a  smiling  counte 
nance,  but  she  did  not  recognize  him.  He  was  very 
solicitous,  but  she  would  not  notice  him  at  all. 

One  of  Miss  Barton's  traits  was  to  be  a  little  over 
bearing.  She  was  warm-blooded  and  proud  above 
her  station.  Real  elegance  is  a  rare  quality;  rare,  ap 
parently,  because  many  people  confuse  it  with  form  of 
display  or  elaboration.  One  of  the  greatest  charms  is 
simplicity,  and  it  is  the  charm  which,  above  all  others, 
appears  to  be  the  most  difficult  of  attainment  and  pre 
servation.  Simplicity  is  the  real  note  of  refinement, 
of  thorough  taste  and  genuine  culture. 

Miss  Barton  was  too  much  of  a  belle  to  be  a  model 
girl;  she  was  pure  and  good,  but  of  a  high  spirit.  It 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  57 

appeared  in  this  case  that  she  could  not  forgive  an  in 
sult.  Time  rolled  on  and  still  the  mate  could  not  get 
an  interview  with  her.  The  captain  advised  him  to 
write  his  acknowledgements  to  her  and  see  if  she 
would  answer  his  note.  He  wrote.  She  took  no  no 
tice  of  it.  Sister  thought  she  saw  some  change  in  her 
manner  when  she  would  speak  the  mate's  name,  and 
told  her  to  remember  that  she  was  poor  and  depend 
ent,  while  he  was  wealthy  and  loved  her  dearly,  and 
that  she  could  go  to  sea  with  him,  as  he  was  even  then 
able  to  have  a  ship  of  his  own,  for  his  father  was 
ready  to  help  him  at  any  time. 

She  listened,  and  then  said,  "I  know  I  should  throw- 
away  this  foolish  pride.  I  could  have  loved  that  man 
had  he  not  insulted  me." 

That  was  good  news  for  my  sister.  She  knew  the 
ice  was  broken,  and  lost  no  time  in  telling  her  husband 
what  Miss  Barton  had  said.  It  was  natural  for  him  to 
go  directly  to  the  mate.  They  had  a  conference,  but 
what  was  said  is  best  known  to  themselves. 

When  the  ship  reached  home  Miss  Barton  was  Mrs. 
McPherson,  in  silks  and  diamonds.  He  bought  a 
beautiful  home  for  her  parents,  -then  they  left  for  Scot 
land  on  their  wedding  tour.  They  were  gone  a  year, 
and  then  came  back  to  her  native  land,  where  he 
bought  a  ship  and  she  sailed  with  him  for  several 
years.  In  Seventy-eight  I  visited  them ;  they  had  re- 


58  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

tired  from  ocean  life ;  had  two  lovely  daughters,  and 
a  beautiful  home,  and  appeared  to  be  very  happy. 
From  a  child  she  loved  to  dress  and  was  never  happier 
than  when  dressed  to  show  off  to  good  advantage. 
The  youngest  child  was  like  her  mother. 


The   Tender   Tic. 

Look  back  at  that  first  marriage, 
Dear  Father  in  Heaven,  how  kind 

To  make  a  tie  so  holy  it  would 
Man  and  woman  bind. 

We  could  not  have  fancied 

Any  other  way 
But  to  have  'made  a  female  form 

Out  of  some  of  Adam's  clay. 

God  knew  that  tie  must  tender  be, 

Or  Adam  would  rebel. 
God  took  a  rib  from  Adam's  side; 

He  knew  he'd  love  it  well. 

God  modeled  it  with  His  own  hand, 

While  Adam  lay  asleep. 
Into  a  beautiful  female  form 

That  could  love  and  scold  and  weep. 

Adam  must  have  felt  that  tie 

As  soon  as  he  awoke, 
To  find  a  beautiful  female  form 

Reposing  by  his  side, 
And  God  to  introduce  her 

As  his  lawful  bride. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  59 

In  sympathy,  in  mind,  in  affection, 

They  may  rest, 
God  gave  a  peculiar  emphasis, 

They  twain  shall  be  one  flesh. 

Oh!     Man,  you  must  remember 

Your  wife  is  the  better  part; 
She  was  not  made  of  dust, 

But  a  rib  very  near  your  heart. 


Simplicity. 

There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  the  young  than 
simplicity  of  character.  It  is  honest,  frank,  and  at 
tractive.  How  different  is  affectation  !  The  simple- 
minded  are  always  natural;  they  are  at  the  same  time, 
original.  The  affected  are  never  natural.  As  for 
originality,  if  they  ever  had  it,  they  have  crushed  it 
out  and  buried  it  from  sight.  I  believe  in  being  my 
self.  For  me  to  attempt  to  be  anybody  else  would  be 
more  than  folly.  I  should  feel  that  I  was  contemptible 
to  try  it. 

Rut  suppose  I  could  succeed  in  imitating  the  great 
est  man  or  woman  that  ever  figured  in  history,  would 
that  make  me  any  better?  By  no  means.  I  would 
only  suffer  by  comparison,  and  only  be  thought  of  as 
the  shadow  of  a  substance;  the  echo  of  a  sound.  I 
want  the  fabric  of  my  character,  though  ever  so  poor 


6o  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

and  humble,  to  be  at  the  least,  real.  The  world  has 
frauds  and  shams  enough:  I  do  not  wish  to  add  to 
their  number. 


What  is  Life  ? 
'Tis  the  earthly  hour  of  trial, 

For  a  life  that's  but  begun ; 
When  the  prize  of  self-denial 

May  be  quickly  lost  or  won. 

What  is  Death? 
Past  its  dark,  mysterious  portal 

Human  eye  may  never  roam, 
Yet  the  hope  still  springs  immortal 

That  it  leads  the  wanderer  home. 

Oh,  the  bliss  that  lies  before  us 
When  the  secret  shall  be  known, 

And  the  vast  angelic  chorus 

Sounds  the  hymn  before  the  Throne  ! 

What  is  fame,  or  wealth,  or  life; 

Past  are  praises,  fortune,  strife, 
All  but  love  that  lives  forever  cast  beneath 

When    the  good    and    faithful    servant 
takes  the  wreath. 


Let  our  port  be  the  home  of  the  blest,  the  city 
which  hath  foundation,  whose  builder  and  maker  is 
God.  I  was  taught  that  I  must  have  a  change  of 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  61 

heart  in  order  to  become  one  of  Christ's  family.  I 
read  the  Holy  Word,  and  sought  earnestly  for  that 
blessing.  I  had  been  reading  till  a  late  hour;  then  I 
retired  and  I  dreamed  I  was  in  a  beautiful  country.  I 
cannot  explain  the  situation.  There  was  one  building 
more  beautiful  than  any  other,  and  I  was  anxious  to 
enter  it.  At  the  door  of  that  building  stood  a  man 
who  appeared  to  be  the  doorkeeper.  His  hair  was 
parted  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead  and  fell  over  his 
shoulders,  as  white  as  wool. 

I  asked  for  permission  to  go  in.  He  laid  his  hands 
on  my  head  and  blessed  me,  telling  me  to  follow  him. 
He  opened  a  door,  and  I  remember  distinctly  my  im 
pressions  while  passing  through  that  door.  As  far  as 
my  eyes  could  see  stretched  beautiful  green  fields, 
with  a  river,  bordered  with  bright  foliage,  flowing 
through  the  center.  I  stood  transfixed,  and  gazed 
with  inexpressible  wonder  and  delight. 

This  beautiful  field  was  inhabited  by  little  children, 
in  robes  of  white,  with  harps  of  gold  in  their  hands, 
making  music  which  mingled  with  the  songs  of  the 
angels  of  heaven.  These  children  were  not  walking; 
they  floated  around  like  the  clouds. 

A  beautiful  creature  came  to  me,  bringing  a  harp. 
I  told  her  I  could  not  play  on  it.  She  told  me  I  could 
try,  and  even  while  I  tried  I  was  changed,  and  be 
came,  like  the  rest,  as  little  children.  In  that  intensity 


62  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

of   bliss    I   awoke,  and  knew   that   God,  for  his  Son's 
sake,  had  forgiven  my  sins. 

At  that  time  I  was  seventeen  years  old,  but  since 
then  I  have  had  several  of  those  dreams  to  help  me 
through  the  rough  places  of  life.  My  dear  reader,  I 
suppose  you  will  say,  "The  writer  has  a  vivid  imagin 
ation."  Stop  one  moment  and  think — what  is  life? 
How  soon  shall  we  pass  away  to  be  here  no  more? 
If  we  put  our  trust  in  that  Saviour  who  died  on  the 
cross  that  we  might  have  eternal  life,  God  will  give  us 
strength,  through  His  Son,  if  we  will  ask  in  faith,  be 
lieving  on  Him. 

If  the  world  could  know  that  sweet  repose 
Which  none  but  he  who  feels  it,  knows; 

That  heavenly  calm  within  the  breast. 
Who  in  their  Saviour  put  their  trust. 

Life  is  a  battle  to  be  fought.  Inspired  by  high  and 
honorable  resolves,  we  must  stand  to  our  post  and 
know  before  God  that  we  do  our  duty. 


Saturday  Night  Musings. 

Another  week  has  come  and  fled, 
'Tis  laid  away  writh  its  silent  dead. 

If  to-night  we  were  called  to  go, 
What  have  we  done  for  weal  or  woe? 

As  God  has  blessed  us  out  of  His  store, 
Have  we  fed  the  beggar  who  came  to  our  door? 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  63 

It  is  nothing  to  pray  with  uplifted  hands; 
That's  a  small  thing  that  God  demands. 

Have  we  taken  our  crosses  with   faces  bright? 
Or  under  a  bushel  set  our  light? 

If  under  a  bushel  our  light  has  been  lost, 
We  have  nothing  to  count  for  only  but  dross. 

Oh,  when  our  sun  is  setting  may  we  glide 
Like  summer  evening  down  the  golden  tide. 

And  leave  behind  us  as  we  pass  away, 
Sweet  starry  twilight  round  our  sleeping  clay. 


In  1845,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  years,  I  was  mar 
ried  to  the  man  of  my  choice,  although  mv  mother 
was  opposed  to  the  union,  for  my  husband  was  not  a 
member  of  the  church,  but  I  felt  that  he- was  one  of 
the  purest  and  noblest  of  men.  He  was  a  civil  engi 
neer  by  trade.  We  were  engaged  for  a  period  of 
five  years,  and  in  that  time  I  found  that  one  of  his 
noble  possessions  was  a  good  character. 

We  were  not  as  rich  in  houses  and  lands  as  some 
others,  but  we  had  something  to  build  upon,  for  we 
believed  that  industry,  virtue  and  goodness,  should 
rank  the  highest. 

My  memory  goes  back  to  my  childhood's  home, 
where  all  its  belongings  were  a  part  of  my  nature.  I 
recall  the  familiar  surroundings,  and  how  closely  my 
interests  seemed  bound  up  in  them.  Then  the  time 


64  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

came  that  those  ties  must  be  broken,  and  I  went  forth 
into  new  scenes,  with  new  ties  binding  themselves 
about  me;  and  since  those  childhood  ties  must  be 
broken  it  is  well  for  us  to  learn  to  enjoy  to  the  utmost 
our  present  surroundings.  I  found  a  great  many  kind 
friends,  but  only  one  who  took  the  place  of  my  moth 
er.  She  would  often  say  to  me,  "Great  is  the  power 
of  goodness  to  charm  and  command." 

She  gave  me  her  parting  blessing  as  I  was  going 
far  away  from  that  home  I  loved  so  well,  and  told  me 
that  I  must  never  speak  falsely  to  my  husband,  or  use 
deception  in  any  way.  no  matter  what  the  circumstan 
ces  might  be.  I  felt  the  need  of  all  her  lessons,  and 
knowing  her  life,  I  could  well  believe  all  she  said. 

I  think  that    God,  through  my  mother,  inspired  me 

• 

to  become  an  instrument  in  bringing  my  husband  to 
Christ.  He  became  a  member  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  church  in  four  years  after  we  were  married. 
He  was  the  hist  and  tenth  one  in  his  family  to  join  the 
church,  and  there  was  great  rejoicing  when  he  did  so. 
I  will  say  to  young  wives  who  are  leaving  home,  if 
vou  have  a  Christian  mother,  and  listen  to  her  admo 
nitions,  you  are  rich  in  knowledge,  for  it  will  lead  you 
to  a  life  of  usefulness.  When  I  left  the  parental 
roof  I  had  an  ideal  of  what  I  would  be  to  my 
home  and  husband.  He  is  long  since  in  the  dust,  but 
I  have  a  clear  conscience  before  mv  God. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  65 

After  our  marriage  we  traveled  eighteen  months, 
my  husband  working  at  his  trade.  After  that  we  re 
turned  to  his  home  on  Sandy  River,  in  Maine.  In  his 
childhood  his  father  had  given  three  hundred  acres  of 
land  to  be  divided  between  himself  and  a  brother.  It 
had  been  improved  by  planting  orchards  and  shrubbery. 

All  of  these  surroundings  were  new  to  me.  My 
home  had  been  by  the  blue  Atlantic  from  my  infancy, 
and  you  may  be  assured  it  was  a  great  change  for  me, 
but  I  had  a  kind  and  loving  husband  and  I  knew  my 
place  was  by  his  side.  We  built  a  beautiful  cottage, 
the  cost  of  which  did  not  reach  into  the  thousands, 
but  it  was  our  home,  and  we  were  independent  of  any 
one.  It  was  built  on  a  slope  rising  from  the  river  and 
situated  near  a  sparkling  trout  brook,  where  we  often 
caught  our  breakfast  from  among  the  finny  tribe. 

Back  of  the  house  was  a  hill;  from  under  it  came  a 
beautiful  cascade  of  water,  which,  by  the  means  of 
pipes,  was  brought  into  the  cellar,  and  from  there  it 
was  carried  through  the  house. 

When  our  house  was  completed  my  father  furnished 
it  for  us.  He  had  many  specimens  that  he  had  col 
lected  in  foreign  lands,  which  he  shared  with  us. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  in  our  favor;  we  were  sail 
ing  on  the  bright  side  of  life,  and  to  increase  our  hap 
piness,  God  sent  us  a  little  son.  Then  I  felt  the  need 
of  more  grace  in  my  heart,  more  than  ever  before. 


66  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

I  had  a  new  care;  a  tiny  web  to  weave.  If  I  could 
have  had  the  wisdom  at  twenty-four  years  of  age  that 
I  have  at  three-score  vears  and  ten,  I  might  have  im 
proved  on  my  webs,  but  I  truly  thought  I  was  doing 
my  very  best. 

I  think  mothers  have  a  great  responsibility  when 
the  care  of  a  soul  is  given  to  them,  to  fit  it  for  time 
and  eternity.  I  think  but  few  realize  their  position: 
I  will  give  my  ideas  in  a  poem,  which  I  call  the 


Tiny  Web  of  Life. 
When  the  tiny  web  of  life  begins 

Mothers  should  watch  their  babies'  sins; 
Blot  every  error  from  the  web, 

And  weave  in  sunshine  in  its  stead. 

You  may  size  the  warp  with  the  oil  of  truth, 
It  will  help  it  along  while  in  its  youth : 
God's  blessings  will  attend  the  truth. 

Draw  the  warp  o'er  wisdom's  beam, 
You  can  do  it  fine  without  a  seam: 

Take  the  golden  rule  for  the  back  rood, 
It  surely  must  bring  the  blessings  of  God. 

Bind  your  edges  well  with  prayer, 

Draw  through  the  harness  with  great  care 

Into  the  reed  of  faith,  hope  and  love, 

It  will  bring  God's  blessings  from  above. 

Tie  the  web  to  the  chart  of  life, 
It  will  help  you  to  weave  through 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  67 

This  valley  of  strife,  that  your  web 
May  gain  eternal  life. 

The  shuttle  must  be  of  the  very  best  wood; 

Determination  is  very  good; 
Oil  it  well  with  the  oil  of  love, 

And  never  forget  to  look  above. 

Now,  dear  mother,  you  will  weave  in  the  woof, 
Till  your  web  shall  leave  its  parental  roof; 

Virtue  and  patience  are  inclined, 
Call  on  them  your  spools  to  wind. 

Now,  dear  mother,  your  work's  began, 

To  form  a  character  of  a  man; 
Oh,  wondrous  power,  how  little  understood, 

To  fashion  genius  from  the  soul  for  good. 

Now,  dear  mother,  thou  art  weaving 

In  the  tangled  web  of  life, 
Something  more  than  tender  fancies, 

Strength  to  bear  the  coming  strife. 

Weaving  in  each  little  duty, 

Better  than  worldly  fame; 
Weaving  patience,  love,  forbearance, 

Humbly  in  thy  Savior's  name. 


I  think  the  art  of  living  is  best  exhibited  in  the 
home.  The  husband  who  has  been  working  all  day 
expects  to  have  something  as  compensation  for  his 
toil.  The  least  his  wife  can  do  for  him  is  to  make  his 
home  snug,  clean  and  tidy,  against  his  home  coming 


68  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

at  eve.  Wealth  is  not  necessary  for  comfort;  luxury  re 
quires  wealth,  but  comfort  does  not.  House  thrift, 
though  unseen  of  the  world,  makes  many  people  hap 
py.  How  happy  does  a  man  go  forth  to  his  labor  or 
his  business  and  how  doubly  so  does  he  return  from  it 
when  he  knows  his  earnings  are  carefully  husbanded 
and  wisely  applied  by  a  judicious  wife.  We  cannot 
make  our  homes  happy  without  method.  By  arrang 
ing  our  work  properly,  by  doing  everything  at  the 
right  time,  with  a  view  to  the  economy  of  labor,  a 
large  amount  of  business  can  be  accomplished.  The 
woman  that  has  method  gets  through  her  work  in  a 
quiet,  steady  style,  without  fuss  or  noise,  or  dust 
clouds. 

It  is  worth  every  woman's  while  to  study  the  im 
portant  art  of  living  happily.  Even  the  poorest  woman 
may  by  this  means  extract  an  increased  amount  of  joy 
and  blessings  from  life. 

There  are  many  other  illustrations  which  might  be 
adduced  of  the  art  of  making  life  happy.  The  man 
agement  of  the  temper  is  an  art  full  of  beneficent  re 
sults.  By  kindness  and  forbearance  we  can  be  happy 
almost  at  will,  and  at  the  same  time  spread  happiness 
about  us  on  every  side.  We  can  encourage  happy 
thoughts  in  ourselves  and  others;  and  above  all  we 
can  have  truthfulness.  It  is  the  foundation  of  all  per 
sonal  excellence:  it  shines  through  every  word  and 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  69 

deed;  it  means  reliableness,  and  convinces  our  hus 
bands  that  we  can  be  trusted.  But  we  must  keep  up 
good  courage. 

Here  is  a  poem  that  I  will  give  you.  It  came  to  me 
on  hearing  a  little  family  jar,  which  you  know  often 
happens;  we  are  not  perfect.  I  called  this  poem 


The  Skein  of  Life. 

The  skein  of  life  will  often  snarl, 

It  is  very  hard  to  wind, 
And  if  temptation  takes  the  seat, 

O,  do  not  be  unkind. 

But  call  determination 

And  let  her  take  the  ball; 
With  patience  at  her  elbow, 

She  will  make  temptation  fall. 

My  dear  readers,  we  must  realize  that  we   have  but 
a  short  time  to  overcome  those  temptations. — 

Only  a  little  while  we  walk  with  weary  feet, 
Patiently  over  the  thorny  way 
That  leads  to  the  golden  street. 


Time  rolled  on,  and  we  had  two  more  little  webs  to 
weave.  We  had  three  sons.  From  the  time  I  first 
saw  my  husband  I  asked  my  Heavenly  Father  to  bless 


7O  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

him  and  place  his  feet  upon  that  rock,  that  the  storms 
of  life  might  not  wreck  his  soul. 

About  the  time  my  third  son  was  born  my  husband 
was  building  a  bridge  across  the  Kennebec  river. 
There  came  a  heavy  freshet  before  the  bridge  was  se 
cured.  It  fell.  My  husband  and  three  of  his  men 
went  down  with  the  bridge.  They  went  down  thirty 
feet  among  sharp  boulders.  He  said  he  never  should 
forget  the  sensation  he  had  when  he  was  going  down 
with  that  bridge.  He  was  taken  up  for  dead.  When 
that  news  was  brought  to  me  my  first  thought  was  of 
the  immortal  part.  I  thought,  at  that  moment,  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  live  through  that  scene. 
In  a  short  time  a  messenger  came  to  take  me  to  him. 
I  went  and  nursed  him  back  to  life.  It  was  months 
before  he  was  able  to  leave  his  room,  but  he  remem 
bered  his  prayer  and  sought  his  God,  and  was  a  true 
Christian  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

I  think  that  God  often  takes  harsh  ways  with  his 
children  when  they  are  willful  and  will  not  obey  His 
,  commands.  I  ask  why  is  it  that  people  are  so  back 
ward  in  giving  their  hearts  to  God?  Why  not  receive 
Him?  He  is  the  best  educator  in  the  world.  If  we 
will  put  our  trust  in  Him  He  will  not  allow  the  soul  to 
become  mean.  He  forms  the  heart  to  be  noble  and 
hopeful.  .It  is  like  a  sea  breeze  blowing  over  a  sickly 
land ;  like  sunlight  piercing  the  fog  of  a  long,  dark  night. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  71 

My  reader,  whoever  you  may  be,  it  is  a  terrible  thing 
to  let  conscience  begin  to  grow  hard.  It  is  like  the 
freezing  of  a  pond.  The  first  film  of  ice  is  scarcely 
perceptible.  Keep  the  water  stirring  and  you  will  pre 
vent  the  frost  from  hardening  it.  But  once  let  it  film 
over  and  let  it  remain  quiet,  the  glaze  thickens  over 
the  surface  and  at  last  becomes  so  firm  that  a  wagon 
might  be  drawn  over  the  solid  ice.  So  with  conscience. 
It  films  over  gradually  until  at  last  it  seems  hard  and 
unfeeling.  It  is  not  crushed  even  with  ponderous  loads 
of  iniquity. 

God  has  put  us  here  to  make  the  world  happier  and 
better,  by  our  lives  and  by  helping  each  other.  We 
must  try  and  be  cheerful,  then  we  shall  have  love, 
hope  and  patience.  Love  evokes  love  and  begets 
loving  kindness;  love  cherishes  hopeful,  generous 
thoughts  of  others.  It  is  charitable,  gentle  and  truth 
ful. 

Cheerfulness  is  the  first  thing.  It  furnishes  the  best 
soil  for  the  growth  of  goodness  and  virtue;  it  gives 
brightness  to  the  heart;  it  is  the  companion  of  charity, 
the  nurse  of  patience  and  the  mother  of  wisdom. 
Kindness  does  not  consist  in  gifts,  but  in  gentleness 
and  generosity  of  spirit.  Many  may  give  their  money 
and  still  withhold  their  kindness,  the  latter  coming 
from  the  heart. 

We  must  be  on  our  guard  against  small  troubles, 


72  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

which  by  encouraging  we  are  apt  to  magnify  into 
great  ones.  In  the  presence  of  a  great  sorrow  all  petty 
troubles  disappear.  It  has  been  a  fault  of  mine  to  take 
some  cherished  misery  to  my  bosom  and  pet  it  there. 
It  has  sometimes  been  my  glory,  but  often  in  my 
shame  I  find  the  nature  of  the  misery  depends  on  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  used. 

We  can  choose  to  look  at  the  bright  side  of  things, 
or  at  the  dark  side.  My  opinion  is,  the  world  will  be 
to  us  what  wre  choose  to  make  it.  For  years  I  fought 
the  dark  side  of  life,  but  God  gave  me  strength  to 
overcome. 

My  rule  is  to  rise  in  the  morning  and  read  a  chapter 
in  God's  holy  word,  then  humbly  ask  Him  for  strength 
to  sustain  me  through  the  day;  and  as  often  as  tempt 
ations  arise  I  lift  my  thoughts  to  God.  I  lay  my  bur 
dens  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  and  travel  on.  I  find  if  I 
carry  my  burdens  with  me  they  will  soon  bear  me 
down. 

Meeting  evils  by  anticipation  is  not  the  way  to  over 
come  them.  When  evil  comes  we  must  deal  with  it 
bravely  and  hopefully.  Go  forward  with  hope  and 
confidence.  This  is  the  advice  of  an  old  lady  that  has 
had  a  full  share  of  the  burdens  and  heat  of  life's  da)-. 

The  last  and  chiefest  blessing  is  hope  ;  the  most 
common  of  possessions;  even  those  who  have  nothing 
else,  have  hope.  It  is  the  great  helper  of  the  present. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  73 

It  is  also   the  sustainer  and  inspirer  of  great   deeds. 
Oh,  our  Father,  give  us  faith,  hope  and  love. 


The   Track  of  Time. 
My  heart  beats  with  great  emotion, 

Looking  o'er  the  track  of  time, 
Out  upon  the  world  of  progress, 

With  God's  love  it  is  sublime. 

Travel  on,  thou  great  emotion, 

Enter  every  living  breast, 
Fill  each  heart  with  sacred  goodness, 

That  in  God  we  all  may  rest. 


In  1848  the  gold  fever  was  raging  in  California.  My 
father  and  his  brother  went  there  at  that  time.  The 
Indians  were  very  hostile.  Father  set  up  a  trading 
post  and  his  brother  took  a  claim  and  went  to  digging. 
At  the  end  of  one  year  the  savages  became  very 
troublesome.  One  day  they  attacked  my  father's  post. 
There  was  a  terrible  conflict  between  the  whites  and 
Indians.  Father  was  disabled  and  had  to  return  home. 
His  brother  stayed  and  fought  the  savages.  He  dug 
gold  dust  to  the  value  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  Then 
he  started  to  return  home.  He  put  a  large  amount 
around  his  person  and  took  the  boat  at  the  pier  to  go 
to  the  ship  that  wras  to  bring  him  home  to  his  wife  and 
family.  When  near  the  ship  a  party  of  Indians  at- 


74  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

tacked  the  boat;  one  of  them  raised  his  tomahawk 
over  my  uncle's  head.  In  his  excitement  he  jumped 
from  the  boat  and  went  down  in  one  hundred  feet  of 
water,  never  to  rise  again.  The  gold  on  his  person 
served  to  keep  him  down.  Those  on  board  the  vessel 
had  a  great  encounter  with  the  Indians,  but  gained  the 
victory-  They  upset  the  Indians  and  most  of  them 
were  drowned.  My  father  stayed  at  home  one  year  to 
recuperate;  then  he  returned  to  California,  determined 
to  make  his  fortune,  which  he  did. 

Trials  and  sufferings  are  the  tests  of  married  life. 
They  bring  out  the  real  character,  and  often  tend  to 
produce  the  closest  union.  How  vivid  is  my  memory 
of  what  I  am  about  to  write.  On  the  evening  of  the 
27th  of  March,  1851,  while  father  was  in  California,  a 
cold  winter's  night,  while  we  were  sleeping  sweetly,  a 
fire  broke  out  in  our  house.  At  that  time  we  had 
three  little  sons.  Our  little  babe  awoke  me,  after  two 
sides  of  our  house  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  The  wind 
had  been  blowing  in  the  direction  away  from  our 
sleeping  room.  Probably  that  was  our  safeguard.  We 
had  to  escape  through  a  window,  and  by  the  time  we 
could  get  our  children  to  the  barn  and  cover  them  with 
the  damp  hay  our  home  and  the  hard  earnings  of  sev 
en  years  lay  in  ashes.  Then  we  had  to  fight  the  fire 
to  keep  it  from  the  barns.  We  had  no  insurance  to 
fall  back  on;  it  was  a  total  loss. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  75 

All  night  the  darkness 

Upon  our  hearts  had  lain, 
Like  shadows  on  the  winter  sky, 

Like  frost  upon  a  pane. 

Before  us  roared  the  rocking  pine, 

Below  us  spread  the  lake, 
We  saw  the  flashing  scythe  of  fire! 

What  speed  that  monarch  makes. 

He  sears  our  foliage  with  his  breath. 

Nothing  can  stop  its  ire. 
Oh,  what  a  dreadful  sight  to  see 

Our  all  on  fire. 

Then  we  had  to  exert  the  spirit  of  gentle  heroism 
in  difficulties  and  afflictions.  When  I  found  myself  I 
was  standing  upon  the  cold  snow,  without  shoes  or 
stockings,  anfl  had  been  in  that  situation  for  more  than 
an  hour.  Then  we  bade  our  home  adieu,  and  gath 
ered  together  the  children,  thanking  God  that  we  had 
them  left  to  us,  and  the  morning  was  breaking  as  we 
entered  my  husband's  brother's  home.  We  had  trav 
eled  a  half-mile  in  our  night  robes,  without  shoes  or 
stockings. 

Ice  and  snow  we  there  did  meet, 
It  made  for  us  a  very  cold  street, 

but  we  found  loving  and  kind  friends  to  sympathize 
with  us.  My  sister-in-law  was  one  of  nature's  noble 
women.  She  had  two  little  sons  and  one  daughter; 
she  took  charge  of  the  six.  who  were  of  about  the 


76  LIEE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

same  size.  I  was  not  able  to  lift  my  hands  for  several 
days. 

It  is  unquestionably  true  that  the  highest  qualities  of 
woman  are  displayed  in  her  relationship  to  others, 
through  the  medium  of  her  affections.  She  is  the 
nurse  whom  nature  has  given  to  all  human  kind.  She 
takes  charge  of  the  helpless,  and  nourishes  and  cher 
ishes  those  she  loves. 

My  sister  knew  how  to  sympathize  with  me.  She 
knew  my  surroundings;  how  dear  my  home  was  to 
me.  It  was  not  so  much  the  money  we  looked  at,  as 
it  was  those  little  treasures  that  money  could  not  buy 
again;  they  were  childhood  treasures,  and  my  wed 
ding  presents;  they  were  very  precious  to  me. 

I  was  almost  despondent,  and  for  several  days  I  did 
not  think  to  pray,  but  continually  looked  on  the  dark 
side  of  everything,  magnifying  all  of  our  troubles. 
With  bitter  tears  I  repented  when  my  husband's 
mother  came  to  my  aid.  She  was  a  thoroughly 
Christian  mother  after  the  old  school  of  Methodism. 

She  said.  "My  dear  daughter,  strive  to  be  of  good 
courage.  Trouble  everyone  must  expect,  and  we 
must  not  lay  things  to  heart.  Have  you  told  your 
Heavenly  Father  all  about  it?" 

I  had  to  confess  that  I  had  not.  Then  said  she, 
'•Why — why,  it  is  time  you  did." 

In  sickness  and  sorrow  she  was  very  brave,  and  had 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  77 

great  capacity  to  deal  with  the  affairs  of  life,  as  well 
as  presence  of  mind,  which  enabled  her  to  act  with 
vigor  and  effect  in  moments  of  emergency. 

Her  father  settled  on  the  frontier  of  Maine  in  1793. 
They  endured  a  great  many  hardships.  They  had  to 
go  fifty  miles  to  obtain  their  supplies  of  food  and 
clothing.  The  country  was  nothing  but  a  wilderness, 
and  it  took  men  and  women  of  great  courage  to  settle 
in  those  wild  woods,  where  wild  beasts  were  prowling 
around  them. 

They  were  a  generation  that  believed  in  God. 
They  took  their  bibles  into  the  forest  with  them,  and 
God  gave  them  strength,  with  the  help  of  sharp  axes, 
to  fell  the  giant  oak  and  make  beautiful  farms  for  many 
coming  generations. 

Like  all  courageous  men,  their  strength  seemed  to 
grow  in  proportion  to  the  difficulties  they  had  to  en 
counter  and  overcome.  I  think  they  enjoyed  life  far 
better  at  that  time  than  we  do  in  this  present  age. 
They  had  the  courage  to  be  honest,  to  resist  tempta 
tion,  and  speak  the  truth.  Nothing  can  be  more  cer 
tain  then,  that  character  can  only  be  sustained  and 
strengthened  by  its  own  energetic  action.  It  was  not 
only  the  men  who  had  to  have  courage,  for  the  wo 
men  had  their  part  to  fill;  they  were  left  alone  in 
their  cabins  with  the  wild  beasts  howling  about  them. 
They  had  to  make  every  yard  of  cloth  required  by 


78  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

their  families.  Think,  my  young  readers,  \vhen  you 
clothe  yourselves  in  fine  fabrics,  that  your  great-grand 
mothers  had  to  spin  and  weave  their  cloth  by  hand; 
they  had  to  prepare  the  ground  and  sow  the  flax  to 
make  the  cloth  needed  for  sheets,  pillow-slips  and  ta 
ble  linen  and  all  summer  goods,  and  the  wool  had  to 
be  carded  and  spun  by  hand;  they  had  to  toil  from 
early  morn  till  late  at  night.  They  have  told  me  they 
had  to  spin  by  the  light  from  the  fireplaces  filled 
with  pine  knots.  What  would  we  think  if  we  had 
that  to  do?  And  yet,  they  were  happy. 

It  was  because  they  did  not  know  the  ways  of  this 
sinful  world;  they  did  not  have  the  temptations  of  this 
age,  and  did  not  have  so  much  to  resist.  They  were 
purely  Christian  people  of  the  old  school.  Their 
minds  were  absorbed  in  their  work,  and  they  had  no 
time  to  think  falsely  of  a  neighbor,  and  that  was  why 
they  were  happy. 

I  have  heard  the  story  told 

That  our  grandmothers  of  old, 
Run  the  loom  and  wheel, 

And  carried  the  food  that  the  pigs  should  not 

squeal, 
Carded  their  wool  when  the}' could  see  best 

And  spun  their  varn  when  the  sheep  were  at  rest. 

Our  grandmothers  would  go  to  the  swamp. 
And  mount  upon  some  monarch  stump, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  79 

And  pick  cedar  from  the  boughs 

To  make  a  broom  to  sweep  their  house. 

Our  grandmothers  had  classic  brows; 

They  did  not  shrink  to  milk  the  cows, 
And  they  thought  it  very  fine 

To  have  a  family  of  eight  or  nine. 

Puritan  ways  were  very  meek, 

They  did  not  after  pleasure  seek ; 
They  had  strong  brain  and  good  command, 

And  raised  the  presidents  of  our  land. 

I  have  sat  for  hours  hearing  those  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers  tell  of  their  frontier  life.  The  grand 
fathers  told  me  how  they  would  do.  Several  neighbors 
would  get  together  and  help  each  other.  They  would 
fell  the  trees  in  a  circle.  They  would  then  put  their 
sheep  and  cattle  into  the  circle  and  guard  them  from 
the  wild  beasts  while  they  felled  their  timber.  They 
were  a  very  hardy  people  and  seemed  to  enjoy  that 
life.  They  certainly  lived  to  a  good  old  age.  I  have 
talked  with  several  of  them  who  were  nearly  one 
hundred  years  old.  They  seemed  to  enjoy  telling  me 
about  their  frontier  life.  It  was  a  great  novelty  to  me. 
I  loved  to  visit  those  old  people  who  kept  up  the  style 
with  their  old  fashioned  lire  places.  In  the  evening  it 
was  beautiful  to  see  the  bright  maple  wood  on  fire 
casting  shadows  around  their  great  kitchen.  Christi 
anity  begins  in  those  rooms,  by  those  firesides.  If  it  is 


8o  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS- 

not  there  it  will  be   hard  to  find  that  treasure  for  it  is 
certainly  where  contentment  dwells. 


The  Mistake  of  a  Lifetime. 

I  have  a  friend  who  is  very  anxious  to  have  me  write 
up  the  dark  side  of  her  life,  and  I  will  gratify  her  re 
quest.  This  piece  will  be  called  "The  Mistake  of  a 
Lifetime."  This  lady  whom  I  am  to  write  about  was 
married  many  years  ago.  She  is  living  and  is  as  gray 
as  myself.  What  I  shall  write  is  true  and  original.  I 
know  when  her  youngest  son  was  a  very  small  boy  her 
husband  died.  Through  several  losses  she  was 
seemingly  left  poor.  She  struggled  on.  trying  to  do 
all  she  could  for  her  family,  ever  looking  to  her  God 
for  protection. 

As  the  waters  roll  on  the  shore  with  incessant  throbs 
night  and  day,  and  always,  not  alone  when  storms  pre 
vail,  but  calms,  as  well,  so  it  is  with  a  mother's  heart 
when  bereaved  of  those  she  loves.  There  is  no  grief 
like  unto  it.  Her  days  are  weary;  the  nights  bring 
but  little  rest;  her  thoughts  are  of  those  who  have 
passed  away;  no  one,  now,  to  aid  her  children,  who, 
reckless  and  thoughtless,  have  but  few  kind  words  for 
her;  no  one  to  take  an  interest  in  her  welfare.  Htr 
life  had  been  lavished  upon  her  husband  and  children 
until  her  vitality  was  almost  exhausted.  When  her 
children  were  wavward  and  had  to  be  corrected  for 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  81 

their  wrong  doing,  for  hours  she  would  weep  and  la 
ment.  She  felt  so  lonely,  and  needed  that  sympathy 
she  had  lost  by  her  husband's  death.  She  felt  the 
need  of  some  kind  friend  in  her  home,  and  still  fond 
memory  pointed  her  to  that  tomb.  ' 

There  came  a  day  when  a  friend  of  her  husband's 
came  and  offered  her  his  hand  in  marriage.  At  first 
she  thought  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  one  to  take 
the  place  of  her  husband,  but  her  oldest  son  was  very 
much  in  favor  of  the  gentleman.  He  promised  to 
help  bring  up  the  children  and  do  as  much  for  them  as 
their  father  would  have  done  if  he  had  lived,  and  he 
was  amply  able  to  fulfill  his  promise. 

She  said  there  was  a  cloud  that  hung  over  her,  but 
why,  she  could  not  tell.  He  said  that  it  was  because 
it  was  a  second  marriage,  and  so  she  gave  her  consent 
and  they  were  married.  For  a  short  time  they  ap 
peared  to  be  happy,  but  soon  she  found  that  his  inter 
est  was  not  with  her  children,  whom  she  loved  far  bet 
ter  than  any  earthly  thing.  She  soon  found  that  cloud 
had  not  hung  over  her  without  a  purpose.  Before 
one  year  of  their  married  life  had  passed  he  told  her 
she  must  decide  to  live  with  him  or  her  children. 
She  told  him  she  had  promised  her  dying  husband  to 
stand  by  his  children  until  they  were  old  enough  to 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  by  the  help  of  her  heav- 


82  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

enly  Father,  she  should  keep  her  promise.  At  that 
verdict  he  left  her. 

Then  she  thought  her  heart  would  break — not  be 
cause  of  her  love  for  him,  he  was  not  worthy  of  her — 
but  because  her  pride  must  fall;  and  she  had  been  so 
careful  to  teach  her  children  the  worth  of  character. 
I  saw  her  battle  with  that  storm.  If  her  children  had 
been  as  they  should  have  been,  she  would  not  have  felt 
so  badly,  but  they  were  thoughtless,  as  all  children 
are,  and  did  not  know  that  their  mother  had  refused  a 
life  of  ease  and  pleasure  to  be  a  mother  to  them.  I 
have  often  thought  what  those  children  would  have 
been,  had  she  left  them  in  their  reckless  state.  Prob 
ably  they  would  have  gone  to  the  bad.  I  would  have 
chosen  my  children,  in  that  case,  if  I  had  it  to  do. 

For  years  he  kept  writing,  trying  to  break  the 
bond  of  love  between  herself  and  children,  but  she 
had  a  mother's  love,  and  no  earthly  thing  could  tear 
her  from  her  loved  ones.  She  would  never  speak  his 
name;  she  refused  to  talk  on  the  subject;  her  pride 
was  wounded  and  her  heart  was  broken.  Still  she 
struggled  on,  trying  to  do  her  duty  by  her  family  and 
those  around  her. 

The  most  grievous  of  the  ills  of  life  have  been  hers 
but  she  has  fought  those  battles  faithfully.  In  the 
deep  furrowed  lines  upon  her  venerable  face  I  can  see 
she  bears  the  marks  of  that  conflict.  Trials  known 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  83 

only  to  her  God,  she  has  borne  incessantly,  and  now, 
in  her  old  age,  her  duty  done,  she  is  patiently  awaiting 
her  appointed  time.  She  seems  more  beautiful  now 
than  even  in  her  youth. 

Young  man,  speak  kindly  to  your  mother,  and  ever 
be  courteously  tender  of  her.  But  a  little  time  and 
you  shall  see  her  no  more  forever.  Her  eyes  are  dim, 
her  form  is  bent,  and  her  shadow  falls  grave-ward. 
Others  may  love  you  when  she  has  passed  away;  a 
kind-hearted  sister,  perhaps,  or  she  whom  you  choose 
for  a  partner.  She  may  love  you  warmly,  passion 
ately;  children  may  love  you  fondly,  but  never,  never 
again,  while  time  is  yours,  shall  the  love  of  woman  be 
to  you  as  the  love  of  your  old  trembling  mother. 

My  friend  wished  me  to  write  this  sketch  in  behalf 
of  mothers.  She  thinks  that  those  who  have  children 
should  be  very  careful  about  marrying  the  second 
time.  The  power  of  the  first  fascination  is  soon  lost. 
That  husband  cannot  love  those  children  like  a  father; 
we  must  not  expect  it,  and.  by  placing  that  step-father 
between  children  and  mother  brings  bad  effects,  that 
hardens  the  children  and  they  become  reckless  and  are 
soon  ruined. 

A  happy  childhood  is  the  best  preparation  for  a  val 
uable  life.  Those  who  can  look  back,  from  amid  the 
trials  and  cares  of  maturity,  to  a  youth  full  of  sunshine 
and  joy,  have  within  them  not  only  a  fund  of  pleasant 


84  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

memories,  but  a  safeguard  against  depression  and  de 
spair. 

A  thoughtful  and  conscientious  mother  should  not 
overlook  this  thought — this  power  of  fascination  plays 
an  important  part  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women.  We 
know  that  second  nuptials  are  honorable,  but  consid- 

V 

ering  the  happiness  of  the  children,  it  is  far  better 
that  mothers  turn  their  thoughts  to  their  God  and  their 
love  to  their  children.  The  children  may  not  realize 
or  appreciate  this  in  their  childhood,  but  they  will  turn 
to  their  mother  in  manhood,  knowing  she  has  left  all 
for  them.  Then  her  old  age  will  be  happy,  and  she 
will  have  no  regrets  as  she  goes  down  the  valley  of 
time  to  pass  over  to  the  other  side. 


His  Mother. 
She  sat  on  the  porch  in  the  sunshine, 

As  I  went  down  the  street; 
A  woman  whose  hair  was  silver, 

But  whose  face  was- blossoms  sweet, 

Making  me  think  of  a  garden 

Where,  in  spite  of  frosts  and  snow, 

And  of  bleak  November  weather, 
Late  fragrant  lilies  grow. 

I  heard  a  foot  step  behind  me, 
And  a  sound  of  a  merry  laugh, 

And  I  knew  the  heart  that  it  came  from 
Would  be  like  a  comforting  staff 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  85 

In  the  time  and  hour  of  trouble, 

Hopeful,  brave  and  strong; 
One  of  the  hearts  to  lean  on, 

When  we  think  that  things  go  wrong. 

I  turned  at  the  click  of  the  gate-latch, 

And  met  his  manly  look; 
A  face  like  his  gives  me  pleasure, 

Like  the  page  of  a  pleasant  book. 

It  told  of  a  steadfast  purpose, 

A  brave  and  daring  will; 
A  face  with  a  promise  in  it, 

That  God  grant  the  years  fulfill. 

He  went  up  the  pathway,  singing; 

I  saw  the  woman's  eyes 
Grow  bright  with  a  wordless  welcome, 

As  sunshine  warms  the  skies. 

"Back  again,  sweet-heart  mother," 

He  cried,  and  bent  to  kiss 
The  loving  face  that  was  lifted 

For  what  some  mothers  miss. 

That  boy  will  do  to  depend  on. 

I  hold  that  this  is  true ; 
From  lads  in  love  with  their  mother 

Our  bravest  heroes  grew. 

Earth's  grandest  hearts  have  been  loving  hearts, 

Since  time  and  earth  began : 
And  the  boy  who  kissed  his  mother 

Is  every  inch  a  man. 


86  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

True    Friendship. 

Of  all  our  felicities  the  most  charming  is  that  of 
firm  and  true  friendship.  I  have  a  dear  friend  who 
calls  upon  me;  sweetens  all  my  cares;  dispels  all  my 
sorrows  and  counsels  with  me  in  all  extremities.  Nay, 
if  there  were  no  other  comfort  in  it  than  the  bare  ex 
ercise  of  so  generous  a  virtue,  even  for  that  single 
reason  I  would  not  be  without  it.  When  I  find  a 
friend  who  is  tried  and  true,  that  friend  to  me  is  more 
than  silver  or  gold.  I  would  not  sell  them  for  the 
precious  gifts  of  the  isles  of  the  sea. 

Some  people  make  a  question  of  which  is  the  great 
er  delight,  the  enjoyment  of  an  old  friendship,  or  the 
acquirement  of  a  new  one?  I  think  it  is  in  preparing 
a  friendship  and  in  the  possession  of  it,  as  it  is  with  a 
husbandman  in  sowing  and  reaping;  his  delight  is  the 
hope  of  his  labor,  in  the  one  case,  and  the  fruit  of  it 
in  the  other.  My  conversation  lies  among  my  books, 
but  I  love  to  meet-  my  friends,  even  if  I  have  not 
health  or  time  to  return  their  calls. 

Dear  friend  Fannia, 
Your  arbutus  was  fine, 

If  it  did  come  so  far. 
O'er  the  fast  Soo  line. 

It  cheered  the  heart 
Of  one  who  is  old; 

That  is  far  better 
Than  silver  or  gold. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  87 

Winifred's  Birthday. 

Early  one  summer  morning, 

When  the  dew  was  on  the  grass, 

There  arose  a  great  commotion 
About  a  little  lass. 

She  brought  her  apron  full  of  love 

And  strewed  it  all  around, 
Till  every  person  in  the  house 

Into  the  link  was  bound. 

We  thought  she  came  to  stay  awhile, 

She  seemed  so  much  at  home, 
We  dressed  her  up  in  long  clothes, 

And  kept  her  very  warm. 

Brighter  than  the  glorious  sunrise, 
That  delights  this  earthly  clime, 

Through  the  splendor  of  its  dawning, 
Breaking  o'er  the  hills  of  time 

Is  the  richness  of  the  radiance 

Of  that  land  beyond  the  sun, 
Where  the  noble  have  their  country 

When  their  work  of  life  is  done. 


Lines  to  a  Friend. 

You  may  gather  up  the  sunbeams 

That  lie  around  your  path, 
To  fill  your  heart  with  love  and  joy, 
To  cultivate  that  little  plant 
Your  darling  little  boy. 


88  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

There  is  nothing  so  innocent, 

So  lovely,  sweet  and  mild, 
As  the  budding  thought,  the  untrained  soul, 

Of  a  tender  little  child. 

I  hope  you  will  find  sweet  comfort 

In  the  blessings  of  the  day, 
With  careful  hand  removing 

All  that's  sin  from  out  his  way. 


Spring. 

The"  hills  and  valleys  are  full  of  mirth ; 

Spring  has  come,  and  given  birth 
To  foliage  and  flowers  to  cover  the  earth. 

The  birds  have  returned  from  their  sunny  clime, 
Their  warble  is  heard  again  in  the  pine; 

Nature  is  busy  with  its  birds  and  bees, 
And  beautiful  arbutus  under  the  trees. 


In  1853  we  came  west.  We  left  the  pier  at  Rock- 
land,  Maine,  on  the  old  Charter  Oak,  at  five  p.  m.,  and 
were  due  at  Boston  at  four  a.  m.  It  was  in  the  month 
of  November,  a  dark  and  lowery  evening.  We  had  not 
gone  far  when  a  storm  arose.  The  boat  had  the  rep 
utation  of  being  unsafe.  All  night  she  labored  so 
heavily  that  we  all  expected  to  be  lost  before  morning. 
The  captain  said  he  had  run  the  boat  ten  years  and 
he  had  never  experienced  a  storm  like  that  before. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  89 

The  state-rooms  were  engaged  when  we  took  the 
boat,  so  we  had  to  take  the  lady's  cabin.  There  was 
a  lady  on  board  who  had  a  little  daughter,  six  years  of 
age.  Her  mother,  had  robed  her  for  the  night,  and 
the  little  one,  amid  the  confusion,  knelt  down  and 
clasping  her  little  hands,  raised  her  eyes  toward  heav 
en  and  prayed  to  her  heavenly  Father  for  the  safety 
of  the  boat  and  all  on  board.  I  could  not  help  refer- 
ing  to  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  St.  Matthew  and 
sixteenth  verse,  where  it  says,  "Jesus  said  unto  them, 
have  ye  never  read,  'Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and 
sucklings  thou  hast  perfected  praise.' ' 

I  believe  that  heaven  is  largely  made  up  of  little 
children;  sweet  buds  that  have  never  bloomed  and 
which  Death  has  plucked  from  a  mother's  bosom  to 
lay  on  his  own  cold  breast,  just  as  they  were  expand 
ing,  flower-like,  and  opening  their  beauties  in  the  bud 
ding  and  spring  of  life.  "Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven." 

My  father  had  returned  from  California.  He  was 
having  his  gold  minted  at  Philadelphia,  and  we  were 
to  meet  him  in  Boston.  The  boat  did  not  arrive  till 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  long  overdue.  The  re 
port  had  spread  that  the  Charter  Oak  was  lost.  All 
that  was  loving  and  dear  to  my  father  was  on  that 
boat.  He  had  been  in  the  observatory  most  of  the 
day,  and  when  he  saw  the  old  Charter  Oak  coming  up 


go  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

to  the  pier  his  heart  was  filled  with  joy.  It  did  not 
take  him  long  to  meet  those  whom  he  loved.  We  all 
went  to  a  hotel,  where  we  stayed  several  days  and 
enjoyed  ourselves  to  the  utmost. 

Oh,  what  a  meeting  at  that  pier!  Human  nature 
was  displayed  in  its  brightest  form;  people  meeting 
friends  whom  they  feared  they  would  never  meet 
again.  The  anxious  multitude  stood  on  the  pier  watch 
ing  every  person  who  stepped  from  the  boat,  and 
when  they  found  their  friends,  it  would  make  your 
eyes  fill  with  tears.  There  was  an  old  lady — no  doubt 
she  was  a  widow — waiting  for  her  son.  How  care 
worn  she  looked!  There  was  great  joy  when  she  met 
her  boy.  We  felt  to  thank  our  heavenly  Father  that 
we  were  safe. 

When  traveling  with  an  ever-shifting  train, 

Amid  the  sound  of  steps  that  beat, 

Some,  bright  with  thoughtless  smiles, 

And  some  where  secret  tears  have  left  their  trace. 

One  bright  November  morning,  two  families,  which 
numbered  eleven,  left  Boston  for  the  west.  Travel 
ing  by  rail  in  those  days  was  slow  work  and  full  of 
exciting  adventures.  One  could  not  enter  a  depot 
without  seeing,  posted  on  the  walls,  "Beware  of  pick 
pockets."  We  had  one  adventure  in  our  five  days' 
route;  we  had  bought  eleven  tickets  to  Chicago,  (for 
the  two  families)  and  one  morning  as  the  daylight  was 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  91 

appearing  the  conductor  came  into  our  coach  and  told 
us  we  must  go  into  the  rear  coach,  as  ours  would  be 
set  out  at  the  first  station.  It  was 'very  dark,  and  as 
we  came  out  upon  the  platform  several  men  pressed 
about  us  and  would  not  let  us  pass  for  some  time. 

In  the  morning  my  husband  discovered  the  loss  of 
his  pocket-book,  which  contained  the  eleven  tickets 
and  loose  change  to  the  amount  of  twenty-five  dollars. 
Father  had  a  purse  containing  four  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  in  gold,  that  he  was  carrying  in  his  breast 
pocket;  this,  too,  was  gone.  He  said  this  was  his 
first  loss  by  robbery. 

A  great  many  of  the  passengers  were  robbed  of  all 
the  money  they  had  about  their  persons.  One  old 
gentleman  had  his  ticket  and  his  last  penny  taken. 
He  was  going  west  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life 
with  his  daughter.  We  made  up  a  purse  for  him  and 
bought  him  a  ticket  and  sent  him  on  his  way  a  hap 
pier  man. 

When  we  arrived  in  Buffalo  the  coach  had  been  set 
out,  but  we  knew  by  the  conductor's  appearance  that 
he  was  implicated  in  the  affair.  In  Buffalo  we  bought 
our  tickets  by  way  of  the  lakes,  and  by  that  robbery 
our  lives  were  saved.  That  train  went  by  the  way 
of  Suspension  Bridge  and  came  in  collision  with  a 
gravel  train.  The  engineeV,  conductor  and  most  of 
the  passengers  were  killed.  Father  often  told  us  we 


92  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

must  not  complain  of  the  loss  but  thank  God  our  lives 
were  spared. 

When  I  am  traveling  I  often  think  it  does  not  mat 
ter  whether  we  are  ticketed  over  Niagara  or  the  Riv 
er  of  Death,  if  we  have  our  trunks  packed  with 
faith,  hope  and  love,  and  a  receipt  for  the  forgiveness 
of  our  sins.  I  am  nearing  that  last  mentioned  river. 
I  can  look  back  upon  a  great  many  narrow  escapes 
when  my  trunk  was  not  packed  to  give  me  satisfac 
tion.  Our  heavenly  Father  is  very  kind  to  spare  us 
when  we  have  no  ticket  to  show. 

My  life  to  me  is  like  a  station 

Where  all  alone  a  trav'ler  stands, 

And  I,  like  he  who  stands  and  listens, 
Amid  the  twilight  chill  and  gloom, 

To  hear  approaching  in  the  distance 
The  train  for  home. 


In  1855  my  father  went  south  and  settled  in  the 
southern  part  of  Missouri,  thinking  it  would  become  a 
free  state.  He  bought  large  tracts  of  land  and  built 
a  fine  home.  He  was  a  strong  Union  man  and  not 
afraid  to  speak  his  sentiments.  When  the  war  broke 
out  he  remained  true  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  In  '62 
a  band  of  guerrillas,  jayhawkers  and  bushwhackers 
roamed  up  and  down  the  country,  destroying  a  vast 
amount  of  property  and  carrying  on  a  horrible  war 
fare.  Father  was  shot  down  in  his  field  and  his  build- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  93 

ings  destroyed  by  fire.  It  caused  my  mother's  death; 
she  lived  but  a  few  months  to  mourn  her  loss. 

Pen  cannot  describe  the  anguish  I  have  experienced 
by  that  war.  It  has  cost  us  some  of  our  best  and  no 
blest  blood.  I  can  say  I  have  lost  all  that  was  dear  to 
me,  excepting  four  sons,  and  one  of  those  has  since 
passed  the  portals.  The  lives  that  were  lost  in  de 
fence  of  country  is  the  nation's  gain,  and  we  thank 
our  God  that  the  bands  of  slavery  are  broken.  God 
never  intended  that  men  should  become  slaves  to  each 
other. 

I  have  felt  my  great  loss  of  husband,  parents  and 
brothers,  severely,  and  it'  seems  to  me  that  had  it  not 
been  for  slavery  I  might  have  had  them  with  me  for 
years,  if  not  up  to  the  present  time.  It  is  a  great  self- 
denial  to  not  speak,  and  I  know  it  is  necessary  for  our 
personal  happiness  to  exercise  control  over  one's  words 
as  well  as  acts,  for  there  are  words  that  strike  even 
harder  than  blows.  Heaven  keep  us  from  the  destroy 
ing  power  of  words.  There  are  words  the  point  of 
which  stings  the  heart  through  the  course  of  a  whole 
life-time.  There  are  times  and  occasions  when  the 
expression  of  indignation  is  not  only  justifiable  but 
necessary.  We  are  bound  to  be  indignant  at  false 
hood,  selfishness  and  cruelty.  That  was  why  the  war 
had  to  come.  It  was  inevitable.  Slavery  had  to  be 
put  down. 


94  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

We  thank  our  Father  in  heaven 
For  Lincoln's  great  command, 

To  break  the  bands  of  slavery, 
And  make  us  a  free  land.  . 

The  people  are  all  equalized; 

They  are  upon  a  par; 
We  may  thank  that  proclamation 

For  our  free  nation's  stars. 


Affliction  Makes  Friendship. 

When  the  news  came  flashing  over  the  wires  that 
Fort  Sumpter  was  bombarded  by  the  South,  a  great 
excitement  arose,  and  men  everywhere  were  shaking 
hands  with  each  other;  they  could  not  hear  enough; 
they  came  forward  by  the  thousands.  It  was  their 
hatred  of  slavery  that  brought  out  their  love  for  their 
nation  and  each  other.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the 
war  tried  men's  characters  more  severely  than  any 
thing  that  ever  came  upon  them.  It  put  them  to  the 
severest  tests  of  honesty,  self-denial,  justice  and  truth 
fulness,  and  our  noble  men  who  passed  through  those 
trials  and  came  out  unstained  are  worthy  of  great 
honor  as  soldiers  who  have  proved  their  courage 
amidst  the  fire  and  perils  of  battle,  to  the  credit  of 
their  country,  and  I  think  it  is  greatly  in  our  power  to 
promote  their  comfort  and  advancement. 

Unwearied  attention  to  our  duty,  complacent,    re- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  95 

spectful  behavior  not  only  to  our  superiors,  but  to 
everybody,  will  insure  us  a  reward  that  will  surely 
come. 

When  the  war  broke  out  we  were  residing  a  few 
miles  from  Chicago.  When  we  lived  in  Maine  my 
husband  was  a  colonel  in  the  militia  and  so  was  well 
versed  in  tactics,  and  was  employed  to  drill  two  com 
panies  which  he  soon  presented  in  Chicago,  one  of 
which  chose  him  captain.  My  heart  was  broken  by 
the  prospect  of  his  going  to  the  war.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  was  very  patriotic  at  that  time.  I  knew  that  he 
could  not  be  compelled  to  go  for  he  had  lost  three 
fingers  from  one  hand  and  I  took  advantage  of  that. 

We  had  four  sons,  and  they  were  small,  and  needed 
a  father's  care  as  well  as  mine,  and  I  thought  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  take  care  of  those  little  children, 
with  my  health  so  poor  and  so  much  depending 
upon  me.  If  my  husband  went  I  knew  I  would  be 
left  entirely  alone,  for  all  my  people  were  in  the  south, 
in  the  midst  of  the  rebellion.  I  knew  that  duty  called 
him  to  the  front  to  fight  for  our  rights,  but  I  was  very 
selfish.  He  said,  "Do  not  fret;  I  will  not  go.  at  pres 
ent,  but  I  believe,  I  don't  know  why,  that  my  bones 
will  bleach  on  southern  soil."  When  he  spoke  those 
words  a  strong  presentiment  came  over  me  also. 

In  1863  we  went  to  Oshkosh,  Wisconsin.  Soon  af 
ter  we  were  settled  there  came  a  call  for  engineers  for 


96  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

government  service.  I  thought  there  would  be  but 
little  danger  as  he  would  not  have  to  go  into  battle, 
not  once  thinking  that  the  noxious  inhalations  from 
those  mariJhy  districts  would  bring  a  fever  upon  him. 
He  had  been  in  Nashville  but  a  few  months  when,  one 
morning,  there  came  a  telegram  saying  my  husband 
was  in  Nashville,  on  College  Hill,  in  the  quartermas 
ter's  department,  very  sick,  and  wished  me  to  come 
immediately.  That  evening  at  7  p.  m.  I  left  my  home 
and  family  in  care  of  a  housekeeper,  not  knowing 
that  I  should  ever  see  my  family  again,  but  feeling 
that  my  duty  was  by  my  sick  husband's  bedside.  I 
trusted  that  my  Heavenly  Father  would  take  care  of 
those  whom  I  had  left,  and  that  He  would  help  me  to 
do  my  duty  to  my  husband  and  children.  I  believe 
that  God  sent  His  spirit,  borne  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind  that  evening,  to  strengthen  me  to  perform  my  duty. 
He  is  revealed  to  us  through  His  word;  His  facts  are 
lessons.  Amid  the  wildest  national  confusion  God 
makes  himself  known  to  us  by  inward  intuition,  and, 
above  all,  by  the  voice  of  conscience.  I  know  that  God 
helped  me  in  those  relative  duties  that  I  had  to  per 
form. 

God's  word  I  know  will  strengthen  us, 

Make  our  hearts  good  and  true; 
The  battle  to  the  brave  is  given, 

If  thev  will  right  it  through. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  97 

It  was  perilous  times  when  I  wrent  to  Nashville.  I 
was  five  days  on  the  train  between  Oshkosh  and  Louis 
ville.  Hood's  army  of  40,000  men  was  pressing  their 
way  to  Nashville.  I  had  letters  of  introduction  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  National  Hotel,  as  Col.  Eddy  thought 
it  to  be  the  safest  place  for  a  lone  lady. 

We  arrived  in  Louisville  in  the  early  evening,  and 
everything  was  in  confusion:  the  bushwhackers 
had  torn  down  the  wires  between  Nashville  and 
Louisville  and  both  cities  were  under  martial  law.  I 
could  not  enter  Nashville  until  I  went  before  a  provost 
marshal  and  made  oath  that  I  was  loyal  to  my  country, 
and  what  my  business  would  be  when  I  arrived  in  that 
city.  I  had  to  have  a  pass  from  .the  provost  marshal 
of  Nashville  before  I  could  go  through  the  lines,  and 
I  had  to  wait  four  days  before  1  could  get  it.  It  was  a 
long  four  days  to  rne,  not  knowing  how  I  should  find 
my  sick  husband,  and  with  so  much  excitement  around 
me.  I  did  not  occupy  much  of  the  time  in  sleeping 
or  eating,  and  only  one  night  of  the  four  did  I  get  any 
rest.  There  were  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  oth 
ers  waiting  for  passes;  among  them  was  a  northern 
lady  who  was  going  to  Chattanooga  to  her  husband, 
who  had  lost  a  leg  in  that  battle.  One  morning  I  met 
her;  she  called  me  aside  and  told  me  she  had  some 
thing  to  say  to  me.  There  was  an  old  prowess  that 
had  been  stopping  there  three  weeks,  trying  to  get  a 


98  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

pass  to  Chattanooga,  which  was  her  home.  The 
Unions  had  taken  her  son  as  a  rebel  spy,  and  he  wras 
in  Washington,  in  safe  keeping,  and  she  had  been 
there  to  visit  him.  The  lady  who  came  to  see  me  did 
not  know  these  circumstances,  and  this  old  prowess 
took  advantage  of  her  ignorance,  and  told  her  that  if 
she  would  say  she  had  an  assistant  going  through, 
and  would  take  her  along  as  that  assistant,  she  would 
give  her  one  hundred  dollars  and  pay  her  fare  to 
Chattanooga. 

This  old  prowess  knew  she  could  pass  on  that  lady's 
ticket.  That  lady  was  not  a  very  smart  wroman;  you 
could  see  it  in  her  appearance.  She  was  poor,  and 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  wilds  of  Michigan,  and  it 
appeared  that  she  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  take 
an  oath.  She  had  given  her  oath  to  that  effect,  and 
was  rooming  with  that  old  prowess  when  she  came  to 
me  that  morning.  She  said  "that  old  lady,"  as  she 
called  her,  took  a  package  from  her  bosom  and  said 
she  had  some  nuts  for  the  Yankees  to  crack  wrhen  she 
got  to  Chattanooga.  That  frightened  the  northern 
lady,  and  she  asked  me  what  she  had  better  do? 

I  said  to  her  that  if  she  allowed  that  woman  to  go 
with  her  they  would  both  be  put  in  prison  before  they 
got  to  Chattanooga.  She  commenced  to  weep,  say 
ing,  "What  shall  I  do?" 

I  told  her  I  would  go  with  her  to  the   provost  mar- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  99 

shal's  office,  and  she  must  confess  what  she  had  done. 
She  was  very  unwilling  to  go,  but  I  told  her  that  if 
she  would  not  go  with  me  I  should  go  alone.  We 
went  together,  and  the  marshal  was  very  stern  with 
her.  He  told  her  she  must  be  insane,  or  she  never 
would  have  done  that,  but  for  her  husband's  sake  he 
would  release  her  and  let  her  pass. 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  our  passes  came,  and 
we  took  the  train  for  Nashville,  in  charge  of  a  mili 
tary  conductor.  The  old  prowess  took  the  train  with 
us.  I  thought  my  trouble  was  of  no  account.  We 
had  not  gone  far  when  the  conductor  came  to  me  and 
asked  me  to  point  out  the  person  of  whom  I  had  com 
plained  to  the  provost  marshal.  I  pointed  her  out  to 
him,  and  before  we  arrived  in  Nashville  a  squad  of 
soldiers  came  in  and  took  her  away.  I  understood 
she  was  imprisoned  as  a  spy.  She  was  a  rich  plant 
er's  wife,  and  their  home  was  in  Chattanooga.  That 
son  was  their  only  child. 

I  found  my  husband  very  sick;  he  did  not  know 
me.  I  cannot  describe  my  feelings.  I  was  in  a 
strange  land,  so  far  away  from  home,  and  my  dearest 
friend  on  earth  given  over  to  die. 

As  there  are  no  blessings  which  may  not  be  per 
verted  into  evil,  so  there  are  no  trials  that  may  not  be 
converted  into  blessings.  All  depends  upon  the  man- 


ioo  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

ner  in  which  we  profit  by  them;  otherwise  perfect  hap 
piness  is  not  to  be  looked  for  in  this  world. 

I  arrived  in  Nashville  December  6th,  and  the  battle 
between  Hood  and  Thomas  came  off  the  i5th  of  that 
month.  I  cannot  describe  the  anxiety  I  passed  through 
while  that. battle  was  raging,  not  knowing  which  way 
it  would  turn.  We  knew  if  we  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  southern  people  we  should  fare  very  hard,  for  they 
were  very  hardhearted  towards  "the  cold  north,"  as 
they  called  us.  I  think  before  that  battle  was  at  an 
end  they  realized  that  the  north  was  too  warm  for 
them. 

Thomas,  the  noble  hero,  fell  upon  Hood  with  great 
slaughter.  The  sun  rose  high  and  sunk,  still  the  bat 
tle  raged  through  that  wild  December  day.  The 
clash  and  din  resounded  in  the  air  and  in  the  red  sun 
set  and  in  the  white  moonlight  heaps  of  dead  men  lay 
strewn  all  over  the  ground,  but  the  tide  of  battle 
turned  in  Thomas'  favor. 

Hood  suffered  a  complete  overthrow,  losing  55 
guns,  4,500  prisoners,  besides  many  thousand  killed 
and  wounded.  You  may  be  assured  it  was  a  great 
relief  to  me  to  see  them  leave  the  city.  After  the 
army  left  and  it  became  quiet,  my  husband's  reason 
returned,  and  he  knew  me  once  more.  How  happy 
I  was.  How  I  nursed  him  night  and  day  and  tried  to 
bring  him  back  to  life  and  health,  but  it  was  of  no  use, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  101 

the  Destroyer  had  taken  the  vital  part  away  and  he 
had  to  go;  my  prayers  and  tears  could  not  give  him 
back  to  me,  but  I  thank  my  Heavenly  Father  that  He 
was  so  kind  to  me  in  sparing  his  life  that  I  might  see 
him  once  more  and  nurse  him  in  his  last  sickness,  but 
I  had  that  hour  to  meet  as  well  as  others. 

Thy  life  and  mine,  how  hard  it  is  to  part.  With 
anguish  I  bow  before  thy  cot  and  with  a  stricken  heart 
implore  thee.  Thy  life  will  soon  be  beyond  the  vale, 
and  mine,  poor  being  which  must  glide  through  ways 
familiar  to  us  both  'till  death  shall  lead  me  to  thy  side. 

When  I  saw  my  husband's  spirit  depart,  I  knew 
that  he  had  left  me  alone  in  a  strange  land,  with  no 
one  that  I  could  call  my  friend,  although  everyone 
was  very  kind  to  me. 


The  Garden  of  Earth. 

In  the  garden  of  Earth  I  wander 

Mid  weed  and  thorn, 
My  garden  lieth  yonder 

Beyond  the  bourne. 

In  my  dreams  I  see  my  garden, 

Beautiful  and  fair, 
Where  no  blossom  fades  or  closes 

In  the  golden  air. 

No  breath  of  autumn  comes  thither, 
Or  frost  winds  chill; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

My  buds  no  worm  may  wither, 
No  blight  may  kill. 

There,  in  the  leafy  hush  of  peace  eternal, 

Dear  husband  waits  for  me, 
'Till  my  appointed  tasks  are  over 

That  God  hath  allotted  me, 
Then,  with  joy  and  gladness 

I  will  come  to  thee. 


My  husband  was  well  cared  for,  and  great  respect 
was  shown  him.  A  colonel  in  the  armv  often  visited 

«/ 

him.  He  said  to  me,  "Why  is  your  husband  here  in 
this  capacity;  he  should  have  had  some  higher  posi 
tion."  I  told  him  what  I  have  written,  that  he  was 
chosen  captain,  and  I  was  the  cause  of  his  not  going. 
He  looked  at  me  very  sternly,  and  said,  "Madam,  it  is 
no  more  than  right  that  you  should  suffer."  I  felt  it 
was  a  hard  saying,  but  came  home  to  my  heart.  It 
was  true,  and  that  it  was  my  selfishness  that  brought 
him  where  he  was.  If  I  was  called  to  do  that  again, 
I  would  never  try  to  overcome  the  right. 

My  great  desire  was  to  bring  him  home,  but  it  was 
impossible  at  that  time.  Bands  of  guerrillas  were  de 
stroying  railroads,  and  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
travel  with  safety.  I  knew  I  had  left  nothing  but  the 
house  of  clay. 

I  knew  his  spirit  would  speed  away  to  the  shore, 
Where  the  boatman  was  ready  to  muffle  the  oar; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  103 

That  they'll  not  hear  the  break 
Of  the  waves  on  the  shore. 

The  winds  may  blow  and  the  breakers  may  roar, 
But  the  boatman  will  carry  him  safe  to  that  shore; 

There  in  the  realms  of  endless  bliss, 
He  will  have  a  home  where  Jesus  is. 

Heft  the  sunny  south  the  loth  day  of  March,  1865. 
The  doctors  thought  that  I  had  better  take  the  even 
ing  train,  as  that  made  better  connections,  but  I  felt 
that  I  could  not  stay  another  day.  All  that  I  loved 
there  lay  buried  in  the  cold  ground.  My  husband's 
prophecy  had  come  to  pass,  and  his  bones  must  bleach 
on  a  southern  soil,  while  I  passed  my  lonely  days  in 
the  cold  north. 

I  bid  that  mound  of  earth  adieu,  never  to  see  it 
again  in  this  world.  God  knows  at  that  moment  that 
earth  was  blotted  out,  and  I  thought  what  shall  thy 
future  be.  Oh,  Lord,  I  wait  in  wonder  to  see. 

The  train  that  I  took  had  a  soldiers'  train  attached. 
We  had  crossed  a  river  and  were  going  into  a  tunnel 
when  a  gang  of  desperadoes  came  dashing  recklessly 
down  the  hill,  but  when  they  saw  the  soldiers  they  left 
without  stopping  to  bid  us  good  bye. 

When  we  arrived  in  Indianapolis,  the  report  came 
that  the  night  train  was  destroyed,  but  it  was  contra 
dicted.  They  had  a  hard  encounter  with  the  guerril 
las,  but  they  left  them  without  loss  of  life.  Our  of- 


IO4  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

ficers  had  something  to  contend  with  besides  the  re 
bellious  south.  They  had  those  who  were  working 
against  us  who  pretended  to  be  unionists.  Those 
states  that  were  divided  against  each  other  were  hard 
er  to  control  than  those  that  came  out  in  bold  defiance. 

On  a  cold  evening,  the  ryth  of  March,  I  arrived 
home  to  my  family.  I  had  heard  from  them  but  once 
since  I  left  home.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  get 
mail  unless  you  was  connected  with  the  army.  My 
children  expected  their  father  would  come  home  with 
me.  They  dearly  loved  him.  I  knew  what  I  wrould 
have  to  pass  through  before  I  entered  the  house.  It 
was  a  sad  night.  No  one  slept  in  that  house  that  long 
night.  With  all  my  distress,  I  felt  that  I  must  help 
my  children  to  bear  their  loss.  I  knewr  I  must  make 
the  moral  atmosphere  in  which  they  lived,  and  by 
which  their  minds  and  souls  are  nourished,  as  their 
bodies  are,  by  the  atmosphere  they  breathe.  I  had 
been  their  cherisher  in  infancy,  their  instructor  in 
childhood,  and  I  asked  my  Heavenly  Father  that  I 
might  be  their  guide  and  counselor  in  their  youth. 

I  kept  them  in  school,  and  at  the  same  time  taught 
them  that  they  must  be  self  reliant  and  self  dependent, 
and  I  tried  to  be  gentle,  patient,  and  self  denying, 
ever  asking  my  Heavenly  Father  for  help,  which  I 
daily  received.  It  was  a  lonesome  life.  I  tried  hard 
to  overcome  my  feelings,  but  it  would  come  to  me, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  105 

you  are  left  alone  to  tread  the  desert  path  through 
your  whole  life.  I  had  a  dread  of  being  left  a  widow. 
A  strange  loneliness  would  come  over  me  when  I 
would  stop  to  give  it  a  thought. 

There  were  two  hospitals  on  College  Hill,  Nos.  i 
and  2.  The  military  hospitals  were  on  the  side  of  the 
hill.  Government  clerks  and  officials  occupied  I  and 
2.  My  husband  was  in  hospital  No.  i.  The  roll 
called  for  one  hundred  and  thirty  in  our  ward.  It  was 
a  very  lonesome  winter  to  me,  although  the  sunny 
south  was  in  its  bloom.  The  ravage  of  war  had  done 
its  work. 

I  remember  one  young  man  who  was  a  clerk  in  the 
quartermaster's  department.  He  was  very  fine  look 
ing.  He  had  a  noble  countenance.  He  was  on  the 
sick  list  with  congestive  chills.  He  had  already  had 
two,  and  that  day  would  be  the  third.  The  surgeon  in 
charge  came  around  and  said,  "•  Madam,  you  notice 
number  thirty-three,  and  see  how  buoyant  he  appears. 
Not  far  from  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  his  spirit  will 
be  in  some  other  land."  They  had  telegraphed  to  his 
people,  and  were  expecting  them  on  each  train.  He 
was  well  connected,  and  very  much  liked  in  the  de 
partment.  There  were  fourteen  doctors  around  Col 
lege  Hill.  They  had  all  prepared  to  try  and  save  him 
if  it  were  possible.  But  the  hour  came,  and  with  it 
the  chill.  Nothing  could  save  him.  He  was  gone  in 


106  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

a  few  moments.  One  hour  after  he  was  dead  his  par 
ents  came.  Oh,  the  anguish  of  that  mother  over  her 
loved  son.  I  often  saw  similar  distress  by  those  who 
came  to  see  their  loved  ones  that  death  had  taken  to 
his  own  cold  bosom. 

One  year  had  passed,  and  Oh,  how  I  missed  that 
husband  and  father  coming  in  with  a  heart  full  of  love. 
It  pushed  all  the  dark  shadows  out.  There  was  no 
chance  for  them  to  lurk  in  the  corners.  For  one  year 
there  had  been  a  vacant  chair,  an  empty  home,  and  a 
grave  away  in  the  sunny  south. 

The  long,  long  days  have  crept  like  years, 
The  sunlight  has  been  dimmed   with  doubts  and 
tears. 

The  Bible  tells  us  there  are  tears  in  heaven,  for  it 
says  that  .God  shall  wipe  all  tears  from  our  eyes.  I 
know  that  God  will  watch  over  us  while  we  are  ab 
sent  from  each  other.  Do  we  comprehend  what  a 
beautiful  thing  it  is  for  the  pure  in  heart  to  die?  To 
be  ushered  into  a  reign  of  such  sublime  possibilities 
of  drawing  near  in  heart,  mind  and  soul  to  our  heav 
enly  Father?  It  would  be  like  passing  out  of  the 
gloomy  winter  into  the  beautiful  summer  with  all  its 
brightness. 

Come,  my  dear  friend,  from  that  far-away  shore, 
Float  some  sweet  song  the  waters  o'er; 

Our  faith  confirm,  our  fears  dispel, 

With  that  sweet  voice  we  loved  so  well. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  107 

In  1866  I  bought  a  hortie  in  Oshkosh,  Wis.,  where 
we  resided  for  twenty  years.  I  kept  my  boys  in 
school  until  they  were  old  enough  to  learn  a  trade. 
They  loved  machinery.  After  I  bought  my  home  my 
sons  built  a  small  shop  on  the  back  of  the  lot.  I  stud 
ied  their  nature,  and  found  it  kept  them  from  playing 
on  the  streets. 

My  second  son  at  the  age  of  twelve  years  made 
patterns  for  a  small  engine.  He  had  got  into  the  good 
graces  of  the  foundrymen,  and  they  cast  his  engine 
for  him.  The  railroad  foreman  became  interested  in 
the  little  engine,  and  they  allowed  him  to  finish  it  up 
in  the  shop.  Then  came  the  time  when  they  would 
rush  home  from  school  to  their  little  engine,  to  see 
what  power  they  could  get  out  of  it.  We  were  not 
rich,  and  they  would  often  be  at  a  loss  to  know  how 
they  could  obtain  boilers,  bells  and  whistles,  to  attach  to 
their  little  engine.  I  remember  of  one  instance  of 
hearing  an  extra  shrill  whistle.  I  went  out  to  see  if 
they  had  found  a  new  model.  To  my  surprise,  there 
was  the  handle  of  my  new  tin  dipper  attached  to  their 
engine.  When  I  upbraided  them  they  said  they  would 
saw  my  wood,  and  that  would  pay  for  all  the  dippers 
I  would  need.  I  was  continually  in  fear.  They  were 
always  trying  experiments,  and  I  did  not  know  what 
instant  they  might  be  killed.  I  knew  they  must  be 
self-made.  I  had  nothing  to  put  into  their  pockets, 


io8  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

and  every  hour  that  they  were  in  that  little  shop  it  was 
one  the  less  on  the  street. 

My  great  trouble  was  that  my  lot  was  lined  with 
boys,  and  even  engineers  came  to  see  the  wonder.  My 
boys  had  but  little  time  for  play.  -Their  school  and 
shop  kept  them  busy,  and  my  trouble  became  light  to 
me,  "Since  love  had  thus  my  efforts  crowned,  to  guide 
their  steps  aright,"  and  I  could  see  that  they  were  the 
material  of  which  men  are  to  be  made  for  the  coming 
generation.  But  it  was  still  hard  for  me.  If  I  had 
been  placed  in  a  ten-acre  lot  near  the  bounds  of  the 
city,  instead  of  having  a  corner  lot  in  the  heart  of  the 
city,  I  should  have  been  more  at  my  ease.  When  the 
whistles  blew  and  loud  laughter  ensued,  I  felt  it  must 
be  very  annoying  to  my  neighbors.  But  they  \vere 
very  kind  to  me,  knowing  that  I  had  all  I  could  man 
age. 

I  had  my  husband's  business  to  look  after.  He  had 
loaned  two  thousand  dollars  to  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Ek  Whitcomb,  of  Vermont,  and  had  taken  a  mortgage 
deed  on  a  farm  in  Illinois. 

After  buying  our  home  in  Oshkosh,  I  expected  to 
have  that  money  with  which  to  educate  my  sons  and 
give  them  trades,  but  when  my  lawyer  went  to  collect 
the  amount,  with  interest,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the 
farm  in  Whitcomb  brother's  name.  The  lawyer  said 
if  I  would  let  him  have  the  case,  he  would  put  him 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  109 

behind  the  bars,  but  I  did  not  have  money  to  spend  in 
lawsuits,  and  I  had  to  lose  every  cent  of  it.  That 
was  a  great  disappointment  to  me.  I  had  promised 
my  dying  husband  that  I  would  do  as  near  right  by 
our  children  as  God  would  dictate  me  to  do. 

I  armed  myself  for  the  battle  of  life,  making  a  prom 
ise,  with  God's  help  I  would  do  as  much  for  them  as 
that  two  thousand  dollars  would  have  done.  I  knew 
I  could  do  no  more  for  my  husband,  and  my  love  went 
out  to  our  children.  I  prayed  for  resolution  and  cour 
age  to  render  me  self-reliant,  that  I  might  be  more 
useful  to  my  family.  I  had  always  relied  on  my  hus 
band's  ability  to  do  business,  not  once  thinking  I  should 
ever  have  to  take  his  place. 

There  is  nothing  attractive  in  timidity;  nothing  en 
viable  in  fear.  Courage  is  graceful  and  dignified; 
while  fear,  in  any  form,  is  mean  and  repulsive;  yet 
the  utmost  tenderness  and  gentleness  is  consistent  with 
courafge. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  look  at  fate,  whether  it  be 
blessings  or  afflictions.  To  behave  with  dignity  under 
both,  we  must  not  lose  heart,  or  it  will  be  worse  for 
ourselves  and  for  those  we  love.  If  we  trust  in  God 
for  protection  He  will  give  us  self-control  that  means 
virtue. 

It  is  a  dark,  November  sky, 

The  darkness  falls,  the  wind  is  high, 


no  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

The  thunders  roar,  the  lightnings  flash, 
I  hear  the  great  round  rain  drops  dash. 

The  storm  may  rage  with  fury  wild; 

With  Thee,  Oh  Father,  I'll  trust  each  child, 
But  future  days  are  drawing  near, 

They'll  go  from  this  warm  shelter  here. 

The  rain  will  fall,  and  the  cold  winds  blow; 

I'll  sit  alone  and  long  to  know 
Will  they  have  shelter  then  secure 

Where  hearts  are  waiting  strong  and  pure. 

God  knows  it  all.     His  will  is  best. 

I'll  shield  them  now,  and  leave  the  rest. 
He  even  looks  after  the  sparrow's  nests; 

In  His  great  care  I  know  they'll  rest. 

My  husband  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  go  to 
Maine  and  see  his  aged  mother.  He  wished  me  not 
to  write,  but  break  the  sad  tidings  of  his  death  to  her 
myself.  The  homestead  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sandy  river,  above  Kennebec.  It  was  with  a  heart 
full  of  sorrow  that  I  traveled  over  those  hills  to  that 
dear  old  homestead.  Twenty  years  before,  not  far 
from  that  date  I  had  traveled  that  road  a  happy  bride. 
Now  I  was  going  back  a  lonely  widow.  When  dear 
old  mother  met  me  and  saw  me  in  widow's  weeds,  she 
did  not  have  to  be  told.  I  expected  the  trouble  would 
overcome  her,  but  she  had  great  Christian  fortitude. 
She  was  nerved  with  a  strong  will  that  never  gave 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  in 

way.  Although  eighty-three  years  old  the  month 
that  I  visited  her,  she  was  then  able  to  look  after  her 
household,  and  was  always  very  prompt  in  all  her 
ways  of  life. 

In  the  midst  of  the  wild  scenes  that  checkered  the 
frontier  settlers'  lives,  Mrs.  Haines  was  left  a  widow  with 
the  burden  of  a  numerous  family.  She  had  three  sons 
and  seven  daughters,  and  made  ample  provision  for 
their  future  care  and  education.  To  bring  up  a  large 
family  of  children  under  the  most  favorable  circum 
stances  is  a  great  work,  and  in  this  case  it  rises  into 
sublimity,  for  there  is  no  finer  instance  of  heroism 
than  a  mother  laboring  for  that  end  alone. 

My  husband  was  the  youngest  son  of  the  family, 
and  was  very  young  when  his  father  died .  When  my 
husband  took  me  home  to  see  his  mother,  she  clasped 
me  in  her  arms  and  called  me  her  daughter.  I  never 
saw  any  change  in  her  after  that  time.  We  loved 
each  other.  I  had  left  my  home  and  my  dear  mother, 
and  I  was  happy  to  think  I  had  some  one  to  take  her 
place.  It  was  with  deep  emotion  that  I  entered  that 
old  home,  feeling  I  was  alone  like  herself. 

I  cannot  describe  the  anguish  we  passed  through 
that  night.  Since  I  last  saw  her  I  had  lost  husband, 
father,  mother,  and  one  brother.  We  could  truly 
mourn  together.  I  loved  her  better  after  the  death  of 
my  husband  than  I  ever  did  before.  I  can  see  her 


ii2  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

now  as  I  saw  her  then,  in  her  old  arm  chair.  She  had 
borne  the  noontide  toil,  and  now  at  eventide,  with 
tired,  folded  hands,  she  was  waiting  for  the  summons 
which  should  open  unto  her  a  morning  of  eternal  day. 
I  staid  with  her  a  few  weeks,  but  they  were  full 
of  memories  of  the  past.  They  were  very  un 
happy  weeks  to  me.  It  made  my  heart  ache  to  leave 
her,  but  my  duty  called  me  back  to  my  loved  ones, 
and  I  left  her  never  to  meet  her  again  till  we  meet  in 
that  beautiful  land.  She  lived  to  the  age  of  ninety- 
three  and  died  with  not  a  day's  sickness.  It  is  very 
plain  to  be  seen  that  as  we  live,  so  shall  we  die.  Is 
it  not  worth  living  for  to  pass  away  in  peace,  and  be 
remembered  by  those  whom  we  love  ? 


Gliding  Down. 
While  gliding  down  the  hill  of  time 

How  we  forget, 
And  before  the  hour  of  noon 

We  find  our  sun  has  set. 

That  dear  old  mother  said  to  me, 
I  have  traveled  down  that  hill. 

I  am  nearing  my  four  score  and  ten; 

I  am  sorry  on  my  friends  I  must  depend. 

I  am  traveling  quietly, 

Soon  to  be  here  no  more. 
In  my  imagination 

I  hear  that  river  roar. 


LIKE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  113 

My  Father  sent  a  message, 

By  that  I  will  abide 
Until  the  boatman's  ready 

To  bear  me  o'er  that  tide. 


I  returned  home  again  to  my  family  who  needed 
my  care,  and  went  to  work.  My  motto  was  work. 
No  one  who  has  read  the  scriptures  can  say  that  it 
does  not  teach  us  to  work.  The  first  words  that  fell 
from  Christ's  lips  on  earth,  so  far  as  we  have  them  on 
record,  were.  "  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be  about 
my  Father's  business."  I  love  to  read  those  sayings. 
It  has  strengthened  me  to  do  my  duty  by  my  family 
and  friends.  It  has  taught  me  that  I  must  not  be 
selfish. 

How  happy  a  parent  is  to  return  to  their  family, 
when  they  know  their  children  are  buoyed  up  by  the 
inward  hopefulness  of  meeting  those  they  love  above 
all  others.  While  their  minds  are  young  and  tender 
there  is  nothing  that  will  fill  their  hearts  with  consola 
tion  like  a  mother's  love.  In  their  trials  he  gives  them 
promises  of  comfort  and  cheer.  There  is  a  singular 
sweetness  in  her  voice  as  she  tries  to  strengthen  and 
help  them  through  the  struggles  of  life.  To  those 
dear  ones  it  is  like  an  open  glade  in  a  dark  forest, 
where  the  sun  lies  on  warm  banks,  the  father  of  many 
flowers. 


ii4  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

And  then  again  we  owe  them  gratitude  for  the  dark 
hours  which^  their  presence  has  brightened:  for  the 
helplessness  and  dependence  which  has  won  us  from 
ourselves;  and  for  those  kisses  on  cheeks  wet  with 
tears,  and  upon  brows  that  had  it  not  been  for  those 
caressings  would  have  furrowed  into  frowns. 

I  think  there  are  but  very  few  who  do  not  feel 
themselves  indebted  to  the  influences  of  their  children 
who  cluster  around  them.  They  are  the  love  and 
light  of  home.  Who  does  not  feel  a  sweet  consola 
tion,  when  tired  with  the  toil  of  the  day,  to  sit  down 
and  press  a  pure  little  babe  to  their  bosom?  God  has 
refreshed  you,  and  you  feel  patient  and  self-devoted. 
Then,  no  doubt,  you  are  moulding  the  destiny  of 
nations.  Our  noble  heroes  lay  on  their  mother's  breasts, 
and  we  must  do  our  best. 


My  Winding    Stairs. 
At  the  top  of  my  stairs,  where  I  go  down, 

They  are  very  narrow  and  wind  around. 
When  it  is  dark  I  step  with  care; 

Old  age  is  apt  to  fall  into  a  snare. 

As  with  the  stairs,  so  with  youth ; 

They  are  apt  to  be  narrow  and  wind  around. 
Seeking  for  something 

That  cannot  be  found. 

If  they  will  take  the  lamp  of  truth, 
Trim  it  well  while  in  their  youth, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  115 

The  stairs  may  be  narrow,  but  they  won't  go  far, 
'Til  they  find  their  bright  and  guiding  star. 

If  they  put  their  trust  in  her  bright  light, 

She  will  lead  them  down  in  the  darkest  night; 

At  the  foot  of  those  stairs,  if  you  turn  to  the  right, 
Truth  will  guide  you  through  with  her  bright 
light. 


When  I  returned  home  from  the  old  homestead,  I 
came  by  the  way  of  Massachusetts  and  engaged  a 
place  in  the  shops  for  my  sons  to  learn  their  trades. 
My  oldest  son  had  married  very  young,  so  I  had  but 
three  to  learn  trades,  and  the  youngest  was  still  in 
school.  The  appointed  time  came  that  they  should 
go.  I  was  not  ready  to  leave  home  at  that  time.  I 
got  two  of  them  ready  and  sent  them  away.  My 
heart  was  heavy.  It  was  the  first  of  their  leaving 
home,  but  the  time  was  not  far  distant  when  I  should 
follow  them.  It  was  a  bright  September  morning, 
cool  and  bracing,  but  the  atmosphere  could  not  brac*e 
me  up  through  that  day. 

They  arrived  all  right  and  commenced  work,  but 
were  very  unhappy  without  mother.  I  closed  up  my 
business  as  soon  as  possible  and  followed  them.  I 
knew  we  could  not  have  any  comfort  till  we  could 
have  a  little  home.  I  struggled  very  hard  to  find 
rooms  and  get  them  ready,  that  we  might  be  together. 


n6  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

The  time  came  and  we  had  the  home.  We  could  say 
"Sweet  home."  It  was  fitted  up  comfortably,  and  we 
were  happy.  It  was  no  trouble  to  keep  my  sons  at 
their  work,  for  they  loved  machinery.  The  superin 
tendent  of  machinery  would  often  encourage  me,  say 
ing  I  would  have  no  trouble,  they  would  make  their 
record. 

Time  passed  on.  The  second  son  got  through  and 
nad  a  position;  the  third  was  still  at  his  trade,  and  the 
youngest  at  school.  Early  one  morning  a  telegram 
came  rushing  over  the  wires,  telling  me  that  death  had 
visited  my  son's  family.  His  wife,  his  bosom  friend, 
lay  lifeless  in  his  house.  That  destroyer,  consumption, 
had  done  its  last  work.  My  son  was  left  with  two 
little  babes,  one  seventeen  months  old,  and  the  other 
three  weeks  old.  Her  last  words  were,  "Mother, 
come  and  take  care  of  my  little  babes."  I  knew  it 
was  my  duty  to  go.  Two  of  my  sons  were  capable 
of  taking  care  of  themselves,  and  the  third  I  could 
take  with  me  and  put  him  to  school  in  Oshkosh. 

In  one  week  after  I  heard  the  news  we  were  on  our 
way  to  the  west,  where  we  arrived  on  a  dark  Novem 
ber  night.  The  gloom  was  not  only  on  the  outside, 
but  it  had  entered  that  home,  and  a  lovely  mother  had 
been  put  under  the  cold  clods  of  the  valley-  The 
babe,  three  weeks  old,  had  consumption,  which  he  had 
taken  from  his  mother.  He  was  a  beautiful  little  boy, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  117 

but  lived  to  be  only  one  year  old.  The  little  one  was 
never  strong,  and  could  not  hold  up  Jjis  head.  At  the 
end  of  one  year  we  laid  him  in  a  little  mound  by  the 
side  of  his  mother.  I  felt  that  she  took  him  out  of 
my  arms. 

Sleep  on  sweet  babe,  and  take  thy  rest; 
God  has  called  thee.     He  knows  best. 

Now  the  time  came  for  my  youngest  son  to  learn 
his  trade,  which  he  was  bound  to  have.  We  took  the 
oldest  babe,  a  fine  little  boy,  and  went  back  to  Massa 
chusetts.  Then  we  had  to  fit  up  a  home  again. 

Mv  son  went  to  work  with   a  will.     We    had  our 

•/ 

dear  little  boy.  He  was  the  light  and  comfort  of  our 
home,  and  never  caused  me  any  trouble.  He  did  not 
appear  like  an  earthly  child,  and  was  not  long  des 
tined  for  this  world.  At  eight  years  of  age  he  was 
sent  for.  Oh,  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  let  cold 
death  take  my  beautiful  boy. 

A  little  spirit  speeding  through  the  night; 
A  little  home  grown  lonely,  dark  and  chill; 

A  sad  heart  groping  for  the  light; 
A  little  mound  beneath  the  hill, 
Tell  us  we  must  bow  to  God's  holy  will. 

The  stream  of  tears  shall  never  cease  to  flow. 

As  long  as  life's  sun  shall  shine  on  us  below, 
And  many  angels  have  been  sent  from  God 
To  count  the  tear  drops  wept  upon  life's  road. 


n8  LIKE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

But  of  all  the  tears,  the  least  defiled 
Are  when  a  mother  prays  beside  her  child; 
Our  Lord,  He  hears  her  groans  and  cries, 
And  sends  His  spirit  from  the  skies. 

I  can  look  very  far  back  on  my  past  life  and  see 
that  whatever  it  might  be,  if  only  a  flower,  if  I  loved 
it,  it  was  soon  taken  from  me;  and  later,  I  think  of 
the  hymn  "  What  e'er  that  idol  be,  help  me  to  tear  it 
from  Thy  throne,  and  worship  only  Thee." 

Time  passed  on;  I  was  once  more  settled  down  at 
home  in  Oshkosh.  About  that  time  my  third  son 
married.  We  were  very  happy  and  a  few  years  flew 
past  like  arrows  from  a  bow.  Old  Father  Time  waits 
for  no  man,  and  for  one  day  of  happiness  we  must 
have  several  of  sorrow. 

One  cold  night  in  December  sad  news  came  rush 
ing  home  to  my  heart.  My  oldest  son,  the  father  of 
those  dear  little  children  that  God  had  called  away 
from  me,  and  that  I  had  laid  away  under  the  cold  clods 
of  the  valley,  had  passed  over  that  river,  away  from 
home  and  friends,  with  no  mother  to  smooth  that  pil 
low  or  kiss  that  burning  brow.  I  thought  I  had  passed 
through  all  I  could  bear,  but  God  strengthens  us  to  bear 
our  burdens  if  we  put  our  trust  in  Him.  It  was  a 
great  consolation  to  think,  that  without  a  doubt  he 
had  passed  over  to  the  other  side  to  meet  those  loved 
ones,  his  wife  and  children.  They  were  a  happy  fam-* 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  119 

ily  while  here  on  earth,  why  not  love  each  other 
in  that  beautiful  hind  beyond  the  sun,  where  Christ 
himself  doth  rule?  Not  one  day  passes  by  that  I  do 
not  imagine  I  see  my  little  buds  expanding  in  that 
school  of  eternal  life. 

There  are  not  many  earthly  gardens  where  death 
has  not  left  his  footprints,  when  he  came  to  steal  away 
some  of  our  sweetest  flowers,  and  of  that  dear  son's 
family  we  have  laid  the  last  of  them  in  the  dust.  But 
we  know  Christ  doth  rule.  He  has  borne  the  heat 
and  burden  of  the  cross  for  our  sins.  How  plain  it  looks 
to  me;  we  are  put  here  with  all  our  troubles  and  sor 
rows,  to  be  more  ready  to  enjoy  that  beautiful  land. 
Do  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  there  will  be  no  more 
death  there;  no  sickness,  no  parting  with  those  we 
love.  Our  Lord  said  He  had  many  mansions,  and  He 
would  go  and  prepare  one,  that  we  might  be  with  Him. 
And  if  we  will  live  up  to  the  golden  rule,  we  surely 
shall  obtain  the  promise.  What  are  those  few  years 
we  have  to  pass  through  here,  to  the  never  ending 
eternity?  I  know  the  ties  of  nature  are  very  strong, 
and  parting  with  those  loved  ones  is  very  hard  to  bear, 
but  when  we  look  to  our  Heavenly  Father,  he  relieves 
our  hearts,  and  we  can  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

Life  to  me  was  very  sweet, 
When  round  the  hearth  we'd  meet, 
My  dear  children  all  to  greet; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

When  we  had  lived  together, 
Through  cloudy  and  pleasant  weather. 

So  hard  to  part  with  one  so  dear, 
It  has  cost  many  a  sigh  and  tear. 

He  that  we  loved  had  little  warning, 
Not  even  to  say  good-night, 
But  in  some  future  clime 

We  hope  to  bid  him  good-morning. 

Oh,  why  should  fear  the  cold,  cold  clay, 

Why  should  we  fear  the  tomb, 
When  we  know  we  shall  drop  this-  body  below, 

And  enter  again  into  bloom. 
When  I  think  of  my  loved  ones  gone  before, 

To  that  land  on  the  other  side, 
I  do  not  fear  the  river  of  death, 

I  wait  for  the  even  tide. 


Myrtcfs  Death. 

In  a  few  years,  after  my  son's  marriage,  they  had  a 
beautiful  little  daughter.  From  the  first  time  I  saw 
her  I  loved  her.  No  one  could  help  loving  Myrta. 
She  loved  music,  and  that  was  my  delight.  I  taught 
her  her  first  lesson  in  music.  How  patiently  she  would 
play  on  the  organ.  She  retained  her  music  and 
learned  very  fast.  She  was  always  helping  me  about 
my  plants  and  flowers,  and  grew  around  my  heart  like 
a  running  vine,  while  she  wrapped  herself  about  me. 
In  my  mind  it  was  impossible  to  live  without  her,  for 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  121 

she  became  my  idol,  and  loved  nature  in  all  its  beauty, 
and  so  did  I.  She  had  a  woman's  mind,  though  young, 
and  changed  very  fast  in  the  last  few  months  of  her 
life. 

We  could  not  help  thinking  that  something  very 
strange  was  taking  place  with  her.  She  had  a  lovely 
voice,  and  Oh,  how  beautifully  she  would  sing,  with 
a  pathos  that  would  raise  the  deep  feelings  in  your 
heart;  an  emotion  that  would  not  soon  be  forgotten, 
she  was  so  passive  and  kind. 

She  was  taken  suddenly  ill  and  lived  but  four  days. 
She  was  transplanted  into  that  immortal  garden,  like 
the  blown  rose  just  expanding  into  a  beautiful  flower. 
She  was  calm  and  collected,  and  willing  to  go.  She 
had  planted  morning  glories  under  her  bedroom  win 
dow  and  the  morning  that  she  died  they  were  in  full 
bloom,  and  were  beautiful  as  the  morning  sun  shone 
upon  them.  "Morning  glories,  I  will  bid  you  good 
bye,"  she  said;  '-I  will  be  in  that  better  land  before  to 
morrow's  sun  rises."  She  saw  the  change  in  herself, 
and  asked,  "Is  it  death?"  I  told  her  it  was.  Then 
she  gave  presents  to  all,  and  several  to  her  Sabbath 
School  class.  I  stood  over  her  to  the  last.  Just  be 
fore  her  spirit  left  its  mortal  clay  she  seemed  anima 
ted.  I  said,  "Myrta,  what  do  you  see?"  She  an 
swered:  "Two  beautiful  girls,"  and  she  was  gone. 

Now  she  has  two  little  brothers  and  one  sister  with 


122  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

her.  Three  of  my  sons  have  flowers  expanding  in 
that  garden,  and  I  sit  in  the  gloaming  and  muse  upon 
those  beautiful  flowers  that  have  been  planted  over 
there,  and  ask,  "Have  they  expanded?"  And  the 
words  come  back  in  my  thoughts:  "They  shall  blos 
som  like  the  rose'  of  Sharon  and  the  lily  of  the  valley." 
And  I  ask:  "Do  they  know  each  other  there?"  The 
wind  sweeps  by,  and  I  hear  in  its  moan:  "We  shall 
know,  as  we  are  known."  There  shall  be  no  night  in 
heaven.  No  gathering  gloom  shall  come  over  that 
Elysian  landscape;  no  tears  shall  be  shed  in  sadness 
over  those  little  buds.  The  fountain  of  tears  shall  be 
dried  away.  At  the  present  we  can  only  see  by  the 
eye  of  faith.  We  know  there  is  a  land  where  beauty 
never  dies,  and  love  becomes  immortal.  I  have  seen 
that  beautiful  land  in  my  dreams,  whose  fields  are 
ever  vernal;  where  nothing  can  ever  fade;  but  bloom 
for  ages  eternal. 

I  am  very  glad  that  we  lay  down  our  armor  on  this 
side.  We  cannot  be  ferried  over  that  river  by  creeds 
or  manuscript.  They  must  all  float  down  the  tide  of 
death,  but  we  shall  put  on  the  spirit's  immortal  bloom. 
That  will  be  as  nice  a  garment  as  we  shall  wish  to 
wear. 

Our  sainted  dead  dwell  in  a  life  beholding  their  king 
in  his  beauty,  shining  as  the  stars  in  the  brightness  of 
the  firmament.  They  fade  no  more,  nor  realize  pain. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  123 

A  wealth  of  love  is  theirs:  a  heritage  of  goodness,  a 
celestial  habitation,  and  in  that  habitation,  thoughts, 
hopes  and  feelings  expand  and  move  forward  in  cease 
less  progression. 

We  may  feel  sad  because  they  are  lost  to  us,  but 
while  we  weep  and  mourn,  they  are  wrapped  in  gar 
ments  of  light,  and  warble  songs  of  joy.  They  will 
return  to  us  no  more,  but  we  shall  go  to  them,  share 
their  pleasures,  emulate  their  sympathies,  and  com 
pete  with  them  in  that  path  of  endless  development. 
We  would  not  call  them  back.  In  that  home  above 
they  are  blest;  shadows  fall  upon  them  no  more,  nor 
is  life  muffled  with  anxious  care.  Love  rules  their 
life  and  thought.  Who  is  there  that  has  no  treasure 
in  heaven;  our  well-remembered  forms  hallowed  by 
separation;  distant  stars  of  hope,  illumed  with  ever 
increasing  beauty. 


That  Spirit  Immortal. 

That  spirit  immortal 
That  came  down  from  the  sky, 

That  God  breathed  into  man, 
That  shall  never  die. 

The  old  house  of  clay 
May  fall  to  the  ground, 

But  the  spirit  immortal 
Will  not  in  it  be  found. 


124  LIFE  SKETCHKS  AND  POEMS. 

As  I  lie  on  my  couch 
Full  of  pain  and  distress, 

What  matters  it  that 
I  soon  shall  have  rest. 

That  spirit  immortal 
Will  be  clothed  in  new  bloom, 

For  our  blessed  Saviour 
Never  slept  in  the  tomb. 


Christianity  begins  at  home.  If  it  is  not  there  it  is 
nowhere.  We  may  attend  meetings  and  sing  hymns; 
join  devoutly  in  prayer,  give  money  to  the  poor, 
devote  our  time  to  doing  good,  and  yet  not  be  the  true 
and  earnest  Christian  we  ought  to  be,  if  we  cannot  in 
the  family  at  home  show  that  we  are  Christians. 

If  home  is  not  better  and  happier  for  our  being  in 
it,  and  we  cannot  have  a  silent  influence  going  out 
from  us  day  by  day,  drawing  those  about  us  in  the 
right  direction,  then  it  is  time  for  us  to  stop  and  exam 
ine  ourselves,  and  see  if  our  title  to  the  name  of 
Christian  is  good.  If  we  possess  that  name,  we  shall 
be  patient,  kind  and  loving,  suffering  and  forbearing, 
seeking  with  all  our  hearts  to  do  good;  dreading  with 
all  our  hearts  to  do  evil;  for  if  we  are  Christ's,  we 
shall  be  like  Him. 

A  few  days  since  I  was  in  trouble.  My  feelings 
were  hurt,  my  pride  was  taken  down  and  my  ambi 
tion  was  put  to  a  standstill.  Then  came  my  reasoning 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  125 

faculties.  Thev  told  me  not  to  murmur.  Most  of  us 
have  had  trouble  all  our  lives.  Every  day  has  brought 
all  the  evil  we  wished  to  endure.  If  we  were  asked 
to  recount  the  sorrows  of  our  lives,  how  many  that 
are  six  months  old  should  we  think  worthy  to  be  re 
membered  or  mentioned.  To-day,  troubles  look  large, 
but  a  week  hence  they  will  be  forgotten  and  buried 
out  of  sight. 

If  we  should  keep  a  book,  and  every  day  put  down 
the  things  that  worry  us,  and  see  what  became  of  them, 
it  would  be  a  benefit  to  us.  We  allow  small  things  to 
annoy  us,  and  lose  our  temper.  Then  we  will  justify 
ourselves  for  being  thrown  off  our  balance  by  causes 
that  we  do  not  trace  out.  But  if  we  would  see  what 
it  was  that  threw  us  off  our  balance,  and  put  it  down, 
follow  it  out,  and  ascertain  what  became  of  it,  we 
would  see  how  foolish  we  were  in  the  matter. 

The  art  of  forgetting  is  a  blessed  art,  but  the  art  of 
overlooking  is  more  important.  If  we  should  take 
time  to  write  the  origin,  progress  and  outcome  of  a 
few  of  our  troubles,  it  would  make  us  so  ashamed  of 
the  fuss  we  make  over  them,  that  we  should  be  glad 
to  drop  such  things,  and  bury  them  at  once  in  eternal 
forgetfulness. 

Life  is  too  short  to  be  worn  out  in  petty  worries, 
frettings,  hatreds  and  vexations.  Let  us  think  only  on 


126  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

whatsoever  things  are  pure  and  lovely,  and  of  good 

report, 

Then  we  shall  lie  down  and  sleep  so  sweet, 
And  rise  in  the  morning  our  friends  to  greet. 


An  Evening  Soliloquy. 
I  am  sitting  by  my  window, 

In  a  deep  soliloquy; 
The  moon  rose  over  the  city; 

It  looked  so  full  and  free. 
It  traveled  up  so  high 

Above  the  land  and  sea, 
If  it  could  write  its  volumes 

How  grand  a  thing  it  would  be. 
It  would  tell  of  castle  building 

In  many  a  shady  nook; 
Of  lovers'  vows  and  pleadings, 

Down  by  the  babbling  brook. 
And  howr  it  calmed  the  tide, 

Causing  the  ripples  like  diamonds  to  shine, 
While  the  boat  glided  along, 

And  the  lovers  their  vows  combined. 
It  gathers  up  the  darkness 

And  sweeps  the  light  around 
Into  many  a  poor  man's  cot, 

Where  oil  cannot  be  found. 
It  dances  'round  the  traveler 

As  he  travels  in  the  night, 
And  he  thanks  his  Heavenly  Father 

For  the  gift  of  that  great  light. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  127 

It  follows  that  poor  widow 

As  she  goes  to  her  lonely  cot 
With  a  scanty  meal  of  viands 

A  few  pennies  have  bought. 

With  her  heart  wrung  with  sorrow 

Almost  to  despair, 
And  nothing  but  the  moonbeams 

To  cheer  her  while  she's  there. 

And  when  it  is  full, 

It  has  a  great  command, 
It  illuminates  the  ocean 

As  well  as  the  dry  land. 

It  sends  its  rays  of  light 

Down  in  the  water  deep, 
And  the  ripples  look  like  silver 

As  the  vessels  through  them  sweep. 

But  when  it  looks  on  sin, 

And  people  it  cannot  trust, 
It  draws  its  mantle  about  it 

And  quarters  in  disgust. 


Dear  father,  why  do  you  come  to  me 

In  the  silent  shades  of  night, 

When  the  threatening  darkness 
Gathers  'round  and  hope's  bright  visions  flee, 

Then  I  feel  your  tender  care, 
As  when  we  sailed  the  sea. 

I  know,  dear  father,  you  have  not  forgot, 
Although  I  am  old  and  gray, 


128  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

I  feel  your  presence;  I  know  you  are  here 
'Though  never  a  word  do  vou  say. 

I  love  to  think  of  you,  father, 

You  seem  not  far  away, 
And  the  thoughts  of  you  refresh  me 

As  I  near  the  closing  day. 

We  soon  shall  be  together 

In  an  atmosphere  of  love, 
For  those  that  serve  their  Master 

Shall  dwell  with  Him  above. 

I  often  think  about  you  all, 

I  know  you  are  at  rest, 
Sorrow  never  enters 

The  mansions  of  the  blest. 


A  Lady  I  Met  on  the   Train. 

I  met  a  lady  on  the  train 
That  I  would  like  to  meet  again. 
Her  heart  was  filled  with  gentle  bliss 
As  to  a  poor  forlorn  she  gave  a  kiss. 

A  little  girl  had  passed  her  station, 
Without  a  ticket,  kin  or  nation; 
She  took  the  wanderer  to  her  side 
And  her  tear-wet  eyes  she  dried. 

She  gave  her  money  for  her  ride, 
And  told  her  to  be  pacified; 
That  she  could  take  the  down  due  train 
And  soon  would  be  at  home  again. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  129 

For  that  deed  of  kindness  shown 
To  that  poor  child  that  was  alone; 
You  poured  the  balm  of  consolation 
To  that  poor  child  not  of  your  nation ; 
God  will  bless  you  all  your  life; 
I  know  you  are  a  noble  wife. 


Lines  to  a  School  Boy. 
In  the  morning,  say  your  prayer, 
Do  not  forget  that  God  is  there ; 
Thank  Him  for  keeping  you  through  night, 
That  you  once  more  behold  the  light. 

Write  your  name  high  with  the  pen  of  truth, 
God  will  help  you  in  your  youth; 
Let  love  and  good  works  fill  your  bill, 
Never  say  "  I  can't  "  but  always  say  "  I  will." 

What  you  have  to  do,  do  it  with  your  might, 
Never  take  the  left  hand,  but  always  take  the  right. 
Go  to  school  clean  and  neat, 
Happy  in  the  morning  your  teacher  to  greet. 

Be  on  hand  at  the  ring  of  the  bell. 
Be  sure  you  get  your  lessons  well. 
If  you  take  this  as  a  rule 
You  surely  will  out-rank  the  school. 


October. 

Fair  September's  floating  tresses, 
The  flaming  scarlet  of  her  poppies 
Have  gone  slowly  down  the  valley 


130  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Time  reluctant  to  yield  her  captive 
To  the  imperial  empress,  Autumn, 

Who  sweeps  by  with  regal  beauty, 
Ascend  her  throne,  and  do  her  duty. 

To  receive  the   homage    of  her  royal  subjects, 
The  spirits  of  the  field  and  forests 

Cry,  October,  with  thy  beauty 
We  will  dance  and  do  our  duty. 

With  dainty  touch  she  turned  the  forest 
Into  a  blaze  of  crimson  splendor. 

Across  the  wind-blown  grasses 
She  throws  a  robe  of  amber 

To  keep  them  from  the  chill  November. 

She  shakes  her  royal  head  so  haughty 
In  defiance  of  November, 

Thirty  days  I'll  take  my  pleasure, 
You  may  stand  back  at  your  leisure. 

I  have  brought  the  Indian  summer 
With  its  bounty  and  its  splendor : 

Stand  you  back,  you  bleak  November. 

Now  I'll  chant  my  joyous  measure, 
Opening  up  my  woodland  treasures 

In  the  nut-brown  locks  I  weave, 
Flowers  of  gold  and  crimson  leaves. 

Old  November,  cold  and  drear, 
You  are  coming  very  near; 

In  a  few  days  it  will  be  said 
Autumn  from  our  land  has  fled. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  131 

I  must  take  my  little  band, 
Soon  to  leave  your  frozen  land, 

All  the  choristers,  old  and  young, 
Will  never  greet  you  with  a  song. 

They  whirl,  and  wheel,  and  flutter, 
Nestle  in  my  amber  tresses; 

Away  we'll  fly  from  cold  November, 
And  that  wicked  month  December, 

With  but  one  joy  to  tell 
Santa  Claus,  the  children  love  so  well. 


Lines  to  the  Twenty-three. 

The  Twenty-three  is  out  for  the  night. 
Over  the  rail  and  through  the  snow 

The  engineer  and  fireman  go, 
Pulling  a  train  of  sleeping  stock 

That  for  the  world  they  dare  not  shock. 

The  speed  may  be  up  to  thirty-nine, 
And  enter  the  stations  very  fine, 

Until  they  come  to  a  monarch  block, 
And  then  the  speed  will  have  to  stop. 

The  fireman  stands  with  shovel  in  hand, 
Waiting  the  engineer's  command, 

To  add  more  fuel  to  the  flame; 
He  is  working  hard  for  fame. 

The  engineer  opens  the  throttle  wide, 
And  says,  "old  miss,  this  bank  you'll  ride;" 

It  blows  its  breath  and  fills  its  port, 
And  now  is  ready  for  the  sport. 


132  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

It  helps  the  plow  its  part  to  fill, 
And  it  goes  through  the  bank  with  a  will; 

It's  left  the  city  far  behind, 
It  is  to  the  woods  inclined 

They  know  when  there,  it  will  have  rest. 
They  very  well  know  it's  done  its  best; 

They  will  make  its  toilet  and  put  it  to  bed, 
Where  it  will  rest  its  weary  head, 

While  the  engineer  dreams, 
With  his  nerves  all  shocked, 

Of  mountains  of  snow 
And  sleeping  stock. 


Winter. 

The  sky  is  dark  with  cloud  o'ercast, 
The  snow  is  on  the  ground, 

Not  a  leaf  to  gladden 
Or  a  spear  of  grass  to  be  found. 

And  so  it  is  with  life, 
All  its  beauties  have  flown* 

And  left  me  in  my  chamber, 
A  withered  branch  alone. 


July  26t/i,  1893. — Inlrained. 

One  evening  in  July,  the  weather  was  fine. 
I  took  a  seat  on  the  fast  Soo  line, 
Left  the  dusty  city  to  seek  a  cool  retreat 
Down  in  Wisconsin,  some  dear  friends  to  meet. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  133 

At  forty  miles  an  hour,  we  left  the  city  behind, 
The  monarch  of  the  rail  was  to  the  woods  inclined. 
In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  to  my  great  dismay, 
I  heard  the  alarm  of  fire,  a  bridge  is  swept  away. 

The    engineer  reversed    the  steam,  I  knew  we  were 

running  back; 

Soon  we  were  seated  upon  a  side  track. 
Then  arose  a  discussion,  to  pass  away  the  time, 
While  they  built  another  bridge,  that  was  not  very  fine. 

Some  were  going  to  Boston,  some  to  Eau  Claire, 
Others  said  they  were  going  to  the  world's  fair. 
Some  were  very  boisterous  and  did  not  know  what  to  do; 
Said  they  would  never  ride  again  upon  the  fast  Soo. 

Others  smiled,  and  thought  it  fine, 

Said  they  would  have  a  longer  ride  on  the  fast  Soo  line. 

Early  in  the  morning,  tired  near  to  death, 

We  crossed  that  bridge,  each  one  holding  his  breath. 

When  we  crossed  the  bridge,  they  telegraph  the  time, 
Can't  meet  connections  with  any  other  line. 
Then,  in  the  din,  and  the  rattle  of  the  train, 
I  lie  down  and  went  to  sleep  again. 


Dedicated  to  an  Engineer. 

You  have  begun  the  battle  of  life, 
To  work  for  baby  and  your  wife; 
I  hope  you  always  will  succeed 
In  what  you  do  in  time  of  need. 


134  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

I  hope  in  truth  you'll  have  a  friend. 
And  that  your  brain  may  so  expand 
To  drive  all  errors  from  your  track, 
That  not  one  tie  may  ever  slack ; 
That  you  and  your  loved  wife 
May  run  your  train  into  the  port  of  life. 


Good-bye  to  Ninety-Three* 

We  have  been  sitting  up  to  bid  good-bye  to  the  old 
year,  which  has  been  very  hard  upon  the  poor.  The 
laboring  man  has  been  financially  oppressed.  If  I 
remember,  fifty-seven  was  a  year  something  like  this. 
My,  husband  was  putting  machinery  into  mills  at  Black 
River  Falls.  There  was  a  great  cry  among  the  poor 
in  that  locality. 

It  is  nearing  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  the  year  is 
wrapping  its  mantle  about  it.  to  lie  down  in  the  dust  of 
ages  with  the  past  years.  We  can  say  dust  to  dust, 
and  lay  it  away  without  one  regret. 

It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  meet  with  new  friends, 
But  we  hope  ninety-four  will  make  amends. 
Your  death-knell  is  ringing, 

I  hear  in  the  blast 
Good-bye,  ninety-three, 

You  are  a  thing  of  the  past. 

And  now  I  will  wish  you  all  "A  happy  new  year." 
I  am  nodding  and  dropping  off  to  sleep. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  135 

The  Tear  of  Ninety-  Three. 

The  year  of  ninety-three — 
In  records  cannot  be  found 

Where  so  much  oppression 

And  still  more  discussion 
Have  traveled  the  whole  year  round. 

Banks  have  failed,  and  loans  have  squandered 
The  hard-earned  pennies  of  the  poor, 

While  their  children,  cold  and  hungry, 
Beg  their  bread  from  door  to  door. 

I  hear  the  sound,  I  hear  the  rush, 

The  trampling,  trampling,  o'er  and  o'er, 

But  in  my  heart  there  is  a  hush, 

A  pain  for  years  that  come  no  more. 

Oh,  God  in  Heaven,  that  knows  our  ways, 

And  all  the  ways  of  men, 
Look  upon  our  nation 

As  Thou  did  in  times  of  old; 
Send  truth  upon  Columbia, 

That  we  may  be  controlled. 


To   My  Friend. 

Your  head  may  be  crowned  with  trouble  to-day, 

Your  hands  may  be  full  of  care, 
Your  heart  may  ache  for  the  want  of  a  friend 

To  aid  you  in.  your  prayer. 

If  you  turn  to  that  chart  that  lays  on  your  stand, 
That  teaches  us  all  to  pray, 


136  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

It  will  lighten  the  burden  that  falls  on  ycpr  head, 
And  strengthen  your  hands  for  the  day. 

Your  heart  that  aches  so  much  for  a  friend, 

Will  find  it  in  that  precious  blood; 
He  will  wash  you  and  make  you  as  white  as  snow, 

And  at  last  take  you  up  to  your  God. 

Your  little  angel  while  in  your  youth, 
Came  to  you  and  taught  you  truth; 
Gathered  up  your  prayers  and  tears 
carried  up  to  endless  spheres. 


Childhood's  well  remembered  shrine, 
Ever  beaming  out  before  you, 

Oh,  our  Father  most  divine, 

Wreaths  immortal  round  you  twine. 


The    Bible. 

No  book  is  like  the  Bible 

For  children,  youth  and  age, 

Our  duty,  plain  and  simple, 
We  find  on  every  page. 

It  came  by  inspiration, 
A  light  to  guide  our  way, 

A  voice  from  Him  who  gave  it, 
Reproving  when  we  stray. 

Oh!     Let  us  love  the  Bible, 
And  praise  it  more  and  more; 

Our  life  is  like  a  shadow, 
Our  days  will  soon  be  o'er. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  137 

And  if  we  closely  follow 

The  counsels  God  hath  given, 
We  then  may  hope,  with  angels, 

To  sing  His  praise  in  heaven. 


Christmas  Eve.  • 

Far  back  in  my  musings 

My  thoughts  have  been  cast, 
To  home  and  that  Christmas, 

The  last  ever  passed. 

All  its  surroundings  in  memory  I  see, 
And  they  were  all  very  sacred  to  me; 

I  knew  it  must  be    the    last    Christmas    that  I 

should  ever  pass 
In  that  hallowed  home  I  had  loved  to  the  last. 

I  think  of  my  mother  that  long  ago  died; 

I  think  of  us  children  that  sat  by  her  side ; 
I  ask  not  honor;  but  this  boon  1  crave, 

That  I  might  but  once  sit  by  my  dear  moth 
er's  grave. 


Gladstone,    Michigan,  1892. 

I  entered  this  city  the  tenth  day  of  May; 

It  is  situated  on  de  Noc  bay; 
It  has  large  ore  docks  built  out  on  a  strand, 

With  a  very  fine  harbor  that  ships  command. 

With  a  population  of  two  thousand  or  more, 
Building  up  railroads  and  docks  on  the  shore; 


138  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

For  fishing  and  hunting  you  will  not  find  it  slow, 
Unless  through  the  deep  sand  you  are  called  to  go. 

They  have  two  streets  that  are  very  fine. 

All  that  is  lacking  is  Tom  Lowry's  line.  • 

Nature's  the  part  that  I  do  adore, 

Foliage  most  beautiful  all  around  the  shore, 
Tells  us  the  cold  spring  has  passed, 

And  sweet  summer  has  come  at  last. 


Trailing  Arbutus. 

Beautiful  Arbutus 

Sweet  flower  of  spring, 
Trailing  so  lovely 

Before  the  birds  sing. 

Dressed  in  Nature's  gown 
Of  red,  pink  and  white, 

Sending  forth  odors 
Our  hearts  to  delight. 

The  soil  of  the  garden 
Can  ne'er  be  its  bed; 

Out  in  the  lone  valley 
It  lifts  up  its  head. 

Oh.  great  is  that  Father 
That  dwelleth  above, 

That  trails  the  arbutus 
And  fills  us  with  love. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  139 

My  Dream, 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  traveling, 

A  friend  guided  the  train; 
We  were  on  a  level  grade 

But  did  not  there  remain. 

The  train  rose  in  the  air 
Like  a  bird  upon  the  wing, 

And  it  never  made  a  stop 

'Till  round  a  city  it  did  swing. 

Early  in  the  morning, 

As  the  birds  began  to  sing, 

We  entered  that  city 
Like  an  arrow  from  a  string. 

How  we  made  a  stop,  I  can  not  tell, 

I  was  in  a  back  coach,  could  not  see  very  welV 

But  when  I  left  the  train,  I  had  a  great  surprise, 

There  was  a  large  city  a-towering  to  the  skies. 

• 
It  laid  out  on  a  beautiful  strand, 

With  streets  very  wide,  paved  with  a  silvery  sand. 
I  wandered  about,  how,  I  cannot  explain, 
'Till  I  found  myself  in  a  long,  narrow  lane, 

That  led  to  a  valley  most  beautiful  to  behold, 

With  its  dark  green  foliage,  and  its  flowers  of  red  and 

gold; 

Roses  that  had  an  early  birth, 
Nothing  ever  like  them  that  grew  upon  the  earth. 

They  were  drinking  in  the  morning  dew,   glittering 

and  bright, 
Sending  forth  their  odor,  they  filled  me  with  delight. 


140  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

In  the  midst  of  all  my  joy,   I  heard  an  engine  whistle, 

and  that  the  stillness  broke, 
Then  in  a  great  excitement  I  awoke. 


It's  autumn,  and  the  leaves  are  dry 

And  rustle  on  the  ground; 
Chilh'  winds  go  whistling  by 

With  a  low  and  pensive  sound. 

The  birds  have  left  their  northern  home, 
Have  sought  a  warmer  clime, 

We  hear  no  more  their  warble 
In  the  lofty  pine. 

And  I  must  leave  my  snug  retreat 

And  take  a  western  train, 
The  friends  I  love  are  calling  me, 

I  must  go  home  again. 

'Tis  hard  to  part  with  those  we  love, 
And  from  them  far  to  roam, 

But  if  we  never  "meet  on  ^earth 
We  all  shall  meet  at  home. 


November,  1893. 

The  sky  with  clouds  is  overcast, 
And  everything  is  drear; 

We  hear  the  rain-drops  patter, 
We  know  a  storm  is  near. 

While  we  are  snugly  cornered 
Down  in  our  little  nest, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  141 

We  think  of  those  poor  creatures 
Financially  oppressed. 

The  cold,  bleak  winter  's  coming, 

Many  will  cry  for  bread ; 
Robbed  of  their  daily  sustenance, 

How  can  their  children  be  fed? 

Oh,  Lord,  we  ask  of  Thee  to  give  them  their 

daily  bread, 

That  they,  like  the  ravens,  may  always  be  fed. 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  them  unhappy  to  be, 
When  Thou  hast  said,  "Let  little   children 
come  unto  Me." 


You  may  think,  dear  reader,  it  is  very  simple  to  be 
so  personal  in  writing  this  book.  No  doubt  there  is 
many  a  poor  widow  that  is  left  with  small  means. 
They  may  find  encouragement  to  persevere.  My 
motto  is  not  to  be  cast  down  by  trifles.  If  a  spider 
breaks  his  web  twenty  times,  twenty  times  will  he 
mend  it.  Make,  up  your  mind  to  do  a  thing,  and  you 
will  do  it  if  it  is  proper  that  you  should.  It  is  not  so 
much  in  luck  as  in  force. 

I  have  been  a  great  observer,  and  am  willing  to  be 
taught  by  a  child,  if  it  would  lead  me  to  a  higher  life. 
I  had  pleasure  and  plenty  in  childhood;  in  middle  age, 
hard  work  and  trials;  and  now,  while  writing  at  the 
age  of  three-score  and  ten,  I  have  poor  health,  not 
able  to  mingle  in  society,  but  I  have  not  lost  my  am- 


142  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

bition.      This  is  why  I   write  this  book;  I    must  do 
something. 

It  is  the  fifteenth  of  March,   my  birth-day,   and  I 
have  a  little  poem  for  my  readers.     It  is  original. 


My  Birth-day,  March,  75,  1894. 

Just  three-score  years  and  ten  to-day, 
I  came  into  this  world  to  stay. 

In  a  beautiful  home  down  by  the  sea, 
Where  I  was  cradled  in  infancy. 

My  mother  (.ft  on  me  would  smile, 
And  say  she  loved  her  darling  child; 

She  asked  God's  blessing  every  day, 
And  taught  me  early  how  to  pray. 

And  when  my  brain  began  to  expand, 
I  remember  the  pebbly  strand, 

Where  full  of  laughter,  fun  and  glee, 
A  little  band  played  tag  with  me. 

But  now  the  story  soon  is  told,. 

I  am  growing  very  old, 
But  still  bright  visions  come  to  me, 

Of  that  little  band  down  by  the  sea. 


Away  from  the  city, 
Its  turmoil  and  care, 

Surrounded  by  foliage, 
Birds  singing  in  air. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  143 

If  this  dear  retreat, 

I  could  once  call  my  home, 
Nothing  would  tempt  me 

Again  to  roam. 


Mother     Oak, 
The  young  trees  sprout  up, 

They  have  forgot  their  mother  oak 
That  through  the  storms  of  winter 

The  chilly  winds  have  broke. 

They  have  grown  so  very  stately, 
Their  branches  spread  around, 

It  is  almost  impossible 

For  the  old  oak  to  be  found. 

But  remember,  young  trees, 

You  may  grow  with  all  your  strife, 

But  with  the  cold  storms  of  winter 
You  must  battle  for  your  life. 


Clintonville,   W is.,  August  29,  1893. 

It  is  evening,  dear  Florane, 

Nature's  at  rest; 
The  last  beams  of  sunlight 

Shine  dim  in  the  west. 

I  am  out  in  the  forest, 

Among  the  green  trees 
That  Nature  's  snipping, 

They  will  soon  be  dry  leaves. 


144  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

The  air  is  getting  chilly, 
To  the  house  I  must  repair, 

They  have  lit  the  lights  in  the  parlor. 
And  drawn  in  my  easy  chair. 

I  have  a  little  parlor  to  myself  alone, 

Surrounded  by  foliage, 
Roses,  withered  and  gone. 

With  kind,  loving  friends 
That  for  me  do  their  best, 

It  would  be  presumption 
If  I  could  not  rest. 


With  the  Holy  Spirit  to  guide  us,  I  am  well  assured 
there  is  not  a  prayer  that  we  utter,  or  a  tear  that  we 
shed,  but  that  is  gathered  up  and  carried  to  the  Fath- 
'er's  throne.  The  same  Lord  who  hath  bidden  us 
acquit  ourselves  like  men,  has  also  said,  '.'Rejoice  in 
the  Lord,  always." 

The  believers  have  their  sweets,  and  these  are  of 
the  choicest.  What  is  more  joyful  than  the  joy  of  a 
saint?  What  more  happy  than  the  happiness  of  a  be 
liever?  Christ  said,  "He  must  go  away  that  the  com 
forter  might  come."  This  Holy  Spirit  comes  to  take 
the  place  of  Christ.  How  often  do  we  feel  that  invita 
tion.  Haw  often,  when  we  are  stepping  aside  from 
the  paths  of  virtue  and  honor,  do  we  not  hear  that 
still,  small  voice  entreating  us  to  return  to  our  Father's 
house.  Then  if  we  will  heed,  then  we  will  be  blest. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  145 

Dear  reader,  whoever  you  may  be,  if  you  have 
troubles  and  trials,  keep  up  good  courage.  Though 
the  day  may  be  very  dark,  even  like  the  darkness  of 
night,  if  you  struggle  with  a  holy  motive,  the  morning 
will  dawn  upon  you,  bringing  joy  and  gladness.  These 
little  trials  are  the  soul's  discipline.  If  we  are  Christ's 
we  shall  be  like  Him;  and  I  sav,  now  for  the  work, 
hereafter  for  the  wages;  earth  for  the  cross,  and 
heaven  for  the  crown. 

I  suppose  you  will  say,  I  am  old,  and  have  nothing 
else  to  do  but  to  get  ready  to  die.  I  have  had  some 
thing  to  do,  dear  reader.  But  I  think  if  we  are  not 
willing  to  give  our  hearts  to  God  in  our  youth,  it  will 
be  very  hard  for  us  to  do  that  in  old  age.  We  are  apt 
to  become  hardened,  like  the  bark  of  the  oak  that  has 
had  the  storms  of  winter  to  beat  upon  it  until  it  is  very 
hard.  So  with  life,  we  harden  as  we  grow  older, 
unless  we  have  the  softening  power. 

I  would  say.  dear  mothers, 

Your  daughters  should  rise  and  demand 
That  you  drive  away  those  wicked  serpents 

That  breed  discontent  in  our  land. 

Be  prudent  before  you  are  zealous; 

Not  generous,  only,  but  just. 
Our  hearts  are  full  of  emotion 

When  we  see  how  they  outrage  your  trust. 


146  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

They  crowd  around  your  places; 

They  sneer  at  the  love  they  receive. 
We  say,  shut  the  door  in  their  faces 

Until  they  learn  to  behave. 


Show  Pity. 

Help  us  to  walk  in  Thy  bright  light, 
That  we  may  wear  those  robes  of  white, 
Then  we  shall  drop  our  every  care, 
And  be  at  home,  if  Christ  is  there. 

My  dear  sisters,  we  must  help  each  other.  Many  a 
woman  goes  through  life  with  scarcely  one  bright, 
cheerful,  encouraging,  hopeful  word.  She  toils  hard 
and  in  lowly  obscurity.  She  gives  out  her  life  freely 
and  unstintedly  for  others. 

I  remember  such  a  woman.  She  was  not  brilliant. 
She  was  not  great.  But  she  was  faithful,  though  she 
had  many  things  to  discourage  her.  Trouble  thick 
ened  about  her  life.  She  was  misrepresented  and 
misunderstood.  Everybody  believed  she  was  a  good 
woman,  but  no  one  ever  said  a  kind  word  or  pleasant 
things  to  her.  She  never  heard  a  compliment,  or 
scarce  a  good  wish.  No  one  ever  took  pains  to 
strengthen  her  feeble  knees,  or  lighten  her  burdens,  or 
to  lift  up  her  heart  by  a  gentle  deed  of  love.  She  was 
neglected.  Unkind  things  were  said  about  her. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  147 

I  stood  by  her  coffin,  and  then  there  were  man}^ 
tongues  to  speak  her  praises.  There  was  not  a  breath 
of  aspersion  in  the  air.  Women  spoke  of  her  self  de 
nial;  of  her  work  among  the  poor;  of  her  quietness, 
modesty,  her  humility,  her  pureness  of  heart,  her 
faithfulness  and  prayer. 

There  were  many  who  spoke  indignantly  of  the 
charges  that  falsehood  had  forged  against  her  in  past 
years;  of  the  trials  she  had  to  go  through.  There 
were  enough  kind  things  said  during  the  two  or  three 
clays  that  she  lay  in  her  coffin,  and  while  the  company 
stood  around  her  open  grave,  to  have  blessed  her,  and 
made  her  happy  all  the  years  that  she  lived,  and  to 
have  thrown  sweetness  and  joy  about  her  soul  during 
all  her  painful  journey. 

There  was  enough  sunshine  wasted  about  the  black 
coffin  to  have  made  her  life  happy  many  years.  But 
her  ears  were  closed  then,  and  could  not  hear  a  word 
that  was  spoken.  Her  heart  was  still  and  could  not 
be  thrilled  by  the  grateful  sounds.  She  cared  noth 
ing  for  the  sweet  flowers  that  were  piled  upon  her 
coffin.  The  love  blossomed  out  too  late.  The  -kind 
ness  came  when  the  life  could  not  receive  it  any  more 
than  a  bud  would  become  a  blossom  without  the  in 
fluence  of  the  sun. 

In  this  world  of  wickedness  and  sin  it  seems  impos 
sible  to  be  all  on  a  perfect  equality.  Whtn  we  meet 


148  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

people  that  are  bright,  and  beautiful  and  good,  we 
have  no  difficulty  in  loving  them.  All  the  people  of 
heaven  will  be  like  that.  There  will  be  no  fear  of 
misplaced  confidence  there.  Let  us  strive  by  doing 
all  the  good  we  can,  and  by  helping  each  other  we 
may  yet  wear  that  crown  that  is  promised  to  the 
faithful. 

When  our  Lord  from  earth  did  rise, 

To  holy  mansions  in  the  skies, 

He  said  He  would  a  place  prepare, 

That  we  might  dwell  with  Him  when  there. 

O  blessed  truth,  that  hope  divine, 
It  fills  my  heart  with  love  sublime; 
Lord  gives  us  strength,  day  by  day, 
That  we  may  travel  on  our  way. 

I  am  aged  and  retired  from  the  world's  care,  with 
poor  health.  I  have  been  a  worker  in  the  Methodist 
church  more  than  fifty  years,  and  in  that  time  I  have 
been  thrown  into  all  kinds  of  society.  I  think  we 
should  posess  charity;  the  bible  tells  us  that  without 
that  gift  we  are  as  sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cym 
bals. 

I  think  we  should  abound  in  hope  through  the 
power  of  the  holy  spirit,  and  if  we  are  filled  with  that 
spirit,  we  shall  be  very  hopeful.  I  contemplate  this 
before  I  write.  I  think  women,  as  mothers,  are  too 
backward  about  the  fallen;  we  are  fearful  of  contami- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  149 

nation.  I  think  that  no  fallen  creature  can  mar  us  if 
we  have  God's  holy  spirit  in  our  hearts.  Men  try 
very  hard  to  rescue  their  brothers  from  intemperance; 
why  not  we  be  as  ardent  to  rescue  our  sisters  from  ig 
nominy?  I  think  we  should  not  ignore  them  until  all 
hope  is  lost.  Was  not  her  cradle  as  pure  as  ever  a 
loved  infant  found?  A  mother  pressed  her  fondly  to 
her  bosom.  When  she  was  fair  as  a  lily,  when  you 
saw  her  in  her  beauty,  you  would  not  have  thought  of 
the  rose  growing  poisonous  then.  As  womanhood  ad 
vanced,  those  graces  ripened  to  the  bud  and  burst  into 
bloom.  Health  glowed  on  her  cheeks,  love  looked 
from  her  eyes,  and  an  atmosphere  of  purity  surrounded 
her. 

Alas,  she  forsook  the  guide  of  her  youth.  Oh, 
mother,  if  you  could  have  seen  that  serpent  lurking, 
you  might  have  broken  the  spell,  but  alas  you  saw  it 
not.  Mothers,  you  should  not  use  false  modesty  with 
your  daughters.  Then  they  will  know  how  to  shun 
the  paths  of  vice.  I  have  heard  too  many  heart 
broken  stories  not  to  resent  this  evil  that  is  growing 
in  our  land  every  day.  I  was  so  impressed  by  the  fall 
of  a  beautiful  girl  of  my  acquaintance,  that  I  wrote 
this  poem. 

The  Serpent. 

I  saw  a  young  Eve,  beautiful  and  kind, 
Going  to  the  valley,  arbutus  to  rind. 


150  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Stop,  young  Eve,  I  have  been  told, 
There's  a  serpent  there,  a  lie  to  unfold. 

She  heeds  me  not,  but  follows  his  track, 
And  all  my  deep  pleadings  can  ne'r  bring  her  back. 
She's  been  charmed  by  that  serpent;  no'w  full  of  dis 
grace, 
That  very  serpent  will  hiss  in  her  face. 


A  Plea  for  Boys. 

Most  boys  go  through  a  period  when  they  have 
great  need  of  patient  love  at  home.  They  are  awk 
ward  and  clumsy;  sometimes  strangely  wilfull  and  per 
verse.  They  are  conscious  of  themselves,  and  very  sensi 
tive  to  the  least  word  of  censure,  or  effort  at  restraint. 
Authority  frets  them.  They  are  leaving  their  child 
hood,  but  they  have  not  reached  the  sober,  good  sense 
of  manhood.  They  are  an  easy  prey  to  the  tempter. 
Perhaps  they  adopt  skeptical  views  from  sheer  desire  to 
prove  that  they  are  independent,  and  can  do  their  own 
thinking.  That  is  an  age  when  a  widowed  mother, 
who  has  sons  to  carry  through  that  period  of  life, 
needs  a  heart  full  of  wisdom.  If  you  have  a  fine  in 
sight,  and  a  serene  faith,  you  may  hold  them  fast. 
There  is  no  love  like  a  mother's  in  that  critical  time 
of  a  boy's  life.  Do  not  curb  him  down,  but  influence 
him  for  good.  That  is  the  a-^e  when  boys  love  their 
pets.  They  are  generally  friends  to  nature.  They 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  151 

love  to  roam  the  forests,  hunt  gophers,  and  carry 
water  in  their  hats,  if  they  can  not  find  anything  better, 
to  drown  them  out  of  their  holes. 

I  do  not  think  it  is  pdssible  to  model  boys  into  man 
hood  before  their  time.  Nature  must  have  its  demand. 
I  think  there  would  be  as  much  sense  in  saying  to  the 
sprout  of  the  oak,  "  Why  are  you  not  like  your  mother 
tree?"  as  to  say  to  the  boy  "  Why  are  you  not  a 
man?"  If  we  have  a  genuine  trust  in  God,  a  life  of 
meelj:  acquiescence  in  his  will  lived  daily  through 
years  in  the  presence  of  sons,  it  is  an  immense  power. 
They  never  can  get  away  from  the  sweet  memory 
that  Christ  was  their  mother's  friend.  In  view  of 
these  responsibilities  and  their  far  reaching  effects, 
well  may  we  exclaim,  "  Who  is  sufficient  for  these 
things?"  But  we  will  remember  that  He  who  has 
laid  upon  us  those  duties  has  also  said  "Call  upon  me, 
I  will  supply  all  your  need." 

I  remember  a  family  in  Oshkosh,  Wis.,  one  block 
away  from  my  home.  They  had  several  boys  and 
they  were  called  bad  boys.  Some  of  my  tenants  were 
often  terrified  by  them.  I  had  no  one  left  to  look  af 
ter  me  or  my  property,  but  I  never  feared  them;  they 
were  very  respectful  to  me.  They  seemed  to  have  a 
passion  to  destroy  all  that  came  in  their  way.  I  had 
great  pity  for  them,  for  their  home  was  not  a  happy 
home.  There  was  no  tidiness;  it  was  not  warmed  by 


152  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

affection  or  lighted  up  with  cheerfulness;  they  were 
never  encouraged.  One  sentence  of  honest  praise  be 
stowed  at  the  right  time,  is  worth  a  whole  vollev  of 
scolding.  Every  one. likes  a  little  praise.  There  is 
many  a  boy  who  has  been  stunted  or  soured  by  harsh 
discouragement,  and  there  is  many  a  grown  man  who 
needs  a  sympathizing  word  to  carry  him  through  the 
battle  of  life.  The  sun  understands  how  to  raise  plants. 
At  this  season  of  the  year  he  just  smiles  on  them 
and  kisses  them  with  his  warm  rays.  They  begin  to 
grow  and  unfold. 

The  oldest  son  of  this  family  was  called  the  worst 
boy  in  the  city.  He  was  fifteen  years  of  age  and  was 
continually  doing  mischief  to  some  one's  property,  cut 
ting  fences  or  breaking  glass.  He  wanted  to  mar  the 
beauty  of  everything  that  came  in  his  way.  I  was 
closing  up  my  business  to  pass  a  year  or  two  away 
from  home.  My  friends  told  me  that  I  would  not  have 
any  buildings  left  when  I  returned  home.  I  told  them 
I  would  use  my  influence  and  see  what  effect  that 
would  have.  When  I  was  read}'  to  leave  home,  I 
called  to  the  oldest  boy  as  he  was  passing  and  told 
him  I  was  going  away  from  home,  probably  for  some 
time,  and  that  there  were  several  bad  boys  around  the 
corner,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would  look  after  the 
boys  and  see  that  they  did  not  destroy  my  property 
while  I  was  away  from  home.  He  had  dropped  his 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  153 

head  so  that  I  should  not  see  his  face  while  I  was  talk 
ing  to  him.  When  I  asked  that  favor  of  him,  he  raised 
his  eyes  to  mine  and  said,  "Your  property  shall  not  be 
destroyed  by  boys  while  you  are  away."  And  I  saw 
his  face  light  up  at  that  moment.  I  knew  I  had  struck 
a  chord  in  his  heart.  He  did  as  he  said  he  would  do, 
allow  no  boy  around  that  corner  if  he  knew  it. 

My  friends  wrote  me  that  from  that  time  he  changed 
his  habits,  and  now  he  is  a  respectable  young  man. 
Children  are  not  to  blame  when,  in  their  daily  life  and 
intercourse,  there  is  no  expression  of  affection,  none 
of  the  pleasant  and  fond  behaviour  that  you  see  in 
families  which  have  been  taught  to  love  each  other, 
for  there  is  an  absolute  hardness  in  language  which  is 
shocking  to  every  sensitive,  tender  person.  Between 
father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister,  they  will  pass 
hard  and  hasty  words,  yes,  angry  words,  far  more 
frequently  than  words  of  endearment.  One  to  see 
and  hear  them  wrould  think  they  hated,  instead  of  lov 
ing,  each  other.  It  did  not  enter  into  their  heads,  that 
it  was  their  duty,  as  it  should  be  their  best  pleasure, 
to  do  and  say  all  they  possibly  could  for  each  other's 
good  and  happiness.  How  unpleasant  to  see  a  family 
not  agree;  each  one  for  themselves;  the  father  orders 
and  growls;  the  mother .  frets,  complains  and  scolds; 
the  children  snap,  snarl  and  whine,  and  so  goes  the 
day.' 


154  LIFE  SKETCHKS  AND  POEMS. 

Alas  for  us  if  this  is  a  type  of  Heaven,  for  the  fam 
ily  is  said  to  be  the  nearest  approach  to  heaven  of 
anything  on  earth.  But  give  me  a  cave  in  the  earth, 
a  lodge  in  any  waste,  howling  wilderness,  where  no  hu 
man  being  ever  comes,  rather  than  an  abode  with  par 
ents,  friends  or  kindred  in  which  I  must  hear  or  utter 
language  that  causes  pain.  No  wealth  nor  advantages 
of  any  kind  would  induce  me  to  live  with  people  with 
such  a  nature.  The  dearer  they  were  to  me  the  less 
would  I  remain  with  them,  if  they  did  not  do  all  they 
could  to  make  each  other  happy. 

With  mere  strangers  one  might  endure,  even  under 
such  circumstances,  to  remain  for  a  time,  for  what  they 
say  or  do  has  but  a  limited  effect  upon  one's  feelings. 
It  is  a  sad  moment  for  a  child  when  he  begins  to  sus 
pect  that  there  is  anywhere  in  the  wide  world  a  dearer 
or  sweeter  place  than  home.  A  mother  immersed  in 
society,  and  a  father  steeped  in  the  club,  are  starting 
that  suspicion  in  their  children  and  fostering^  it  every 
day.  The  influences  of  home  perpetuate  themselves. 
The  gentle  grace  of  the  mother  lives  in  her  daughter 
long  after  her  head  is  pillowed  in  the  dust  of  death; 
and  fatherly  kindness  finds  its  nobility  in  the  sons, 
while  on  the  other  hand  go  forth  persons  who  will 
make  their  homes  miserable.  They  will  carry  that 
atmosphere  of  sadness  and  strife  which  have  made 
their  own  early  lives  so  miserable  and  wretched.  To- 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  155 

ward  the  cheerful  home  the  children  gather  as  clouds, 
and  as  dbves  to  their  windows,  while  from  the  home 
which  is  the  abode  of  discontent  and  strife  and  trouble 
they  fly  forth  as  vultures  to  rend  their  prey. 

An  ideal  home  must  have  a  government,  but  love 
must  be  the  dictator.  All  the  members  should  unite 
to  make  home  happy.  It  matters  not  whether  home  is 
clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  if  it  is  only  brim  full  of  love, 
smiles  and  gladness.  We  should  have  birds,  flowers 
and  pets;  everything  to  enjoy  sociability.  Flowers 
are  indispensable  to  the  perfection  of  the  home.  Those 
pleasant  memories  come  up  in  after  life  so  mysterious 
ly;  at  times  we  can  see  our  beautiful  flower  garden 
that  we  had  in  our  youth,  and  we  can  see  the  cool 
spring  and  the  shady  trees  in  our  yard.  Then  again, 
we  see  that  old  school-house  where  we  were  first 
taught  in  our  primer,  where  we  were  called  out  and 
the  order  was,  "Toes  to  the  line!"  Then  we  must  all 
make  a  respectful  bow  to  our  teacher  before  we  com 
menced  our  lesson.  One  teacher  taught  us  nine  years. 
He  was  faithful  to  his  trust.  He  now  sleeps  in  the 
dust.  And  again  I  ask,  has  he  not  a  school  on  the 
other  side?  He  was  a  very  good  old  Puritan. 


Anecdotes  of  Early  Days. 

I  suppose  it  will  be  proper  to  tell  the  boys  and  girls 
a    few    anecdotes  of  sixty   years    ago.     I   remember 


156  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

when  I  was  very  fond  of  sitting  down  at  my  grand 
mother's  knee  and  listening  to  stories  of  her  early  life. 
The  situation  of  my  native  town  I  remember  very 
well.  It  was  not  a  city  at  that  period.  Our  school- 
house  was  situated  at  the  north  end  of  the  town,  in  a 
valley  with  a  swamp  of  cedar  trees  not  a  block  away. 
Down  below  the  school-house  was  a  small  pond  where 
the  little  girls  loved  to  slide.  It  would  not  have  been 
proper  in  those  days  for  girls  to  put  on  skates.  It 
would  have  shocked  our  Puritan  mothers.  They 
would  have  told  us  we  were  getting  very  bold.  You 
see  our  privileges  were  very  small  to  what  you  boys 
and  girls  have  in  this  age. 

The  winter  of  1836  was  a  very  cold  winter,  with  a 
vast  amount  of  snow.  The  boys  busied  themselves  in 
building  a  fort  on  the  top  of  one  of  those  hills.  It 
looked  very  grand.  It  arched  over  at  the  top  to  form 
a  vault,  and  was  made  as  permanently  as  it  possibly 
could  be  with  snow.  They  had  port  holes  in  their 
fort,  and  they  could  stand  unobserved  and  snow-ball 
us  girls  in  the  valley.  Our  Puritan  blood  was  up ;  we 
thought  we  were  very  much  abused.  We  held  a 
council  and  then  in  a  body  went  to  our  teacher.  The 
dear  old  fellow;  he  was  father,  mother  and  brother  to 
us  girls.  The  boys  thought  we  need  have  no  fun  as 
we  were  girls  and  ought  to  sit  down  and  keep  quiet. 
Our  teacher  told  us  to  come  the  next  day  prepared 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  157 

and  he  would,  with  our  help,  take  the  fort...  We  did 
not  know  what  course  he  would  take,  but  we  knew  he 
was  in  earnest.  We  came  the  next  day  prepared  in 
mind  with  our  hearts  full  of  glee.  We  thought  the 
time  had  come  when  we  should  have  sweet  revenge 
on  those  boys.  Most  of  the  school  children  carried 
their  lunch.  The  school  was  dismissed  at  noon  and 
the  most  of  the  boys  were  in  the  fort  taking  their 
lunch. 

Our  teacher  called  us  around  him  and  made  a  little 
speech.  He  had  devised  his  scheme  and  told  us  not 
to  have  any  dialogues  with  the  boys,  but  to  go  out  to 
the  edge  of  the  swamp,  where  there  were  large  piles 
of  small  poles,  cut  for  garden  purposes,  and  each  one 
take  a  pole  and  follow  him.  We  got  our  poles  and 
he  took  a  detour  around  the  hill  and  came  up  behind 
the  port-holes  and  ordered  us  to  charge.  The  boys 
were  eating  their  dinners,  and  were  taken  by  sur 
prise.  You  would  have  smiled  to  have  heard  them 
declaim  after  school  was  allied.  Teacher  told  them 
he  had  been  watching  their  despotism  for  some  time. 
He  had  frequently  spoken  to  them  about  i»,  but  they 
had  not  heeded  him;  so,  by  not  doing  as  their  teacher 
wished  them  to,  they  lost  their  fort. 

While  I  am  writing  I  can  almost  see  the  ruddy 
cheeks  and  smiling  faces  of  my  school-mates  of  sixty 
years  ago.  The  most  of  them  have  passed  the  por- 


158  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

tals,  and  of  those  who  are  left,  their  heads  are  white 
with  the  frosts  of  many  \vinters,  like  myself,  and  anon 
the  song  my  mother  sung  springs  unbidden  to  my  lips 
and  soothes  and  sweetens  all  these  memories.  Then 
again  some  mournful  train  of  thought  throws  the  mind 
into  another  channel  and  we  mourn.  But  light  breaks 
forth  from  behind  the  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  newr  cour 
age  is  given  us,  and  such  is  life.  While  we  sit  and 
watch  from  our  window  the  mem-  groups  of  school 
children  as  they  go  back  and  forth  to  their  school,  if 
we  are  in  moody  silence,  the  merry  whistle  or  the  loud 
laughing  children  will  wake  up  our  memories  of  by 
gone  days. 

I  will  say  to  those  children,  it  is  the  sunshine,  not  the 
clouds,  that  give  beauty  to  the  flowers.  Look  on  the 
bright  side,  it  is  the  right  side.  You  little  ones  have 
your  troubles  as  well  as  others.  None  are  free  from 
them  and  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that  none  should  be. 
They  give  sinew  and  tone  to  life;  fortitude  and  cour 
age  to  all.  There  is  more  virtue  in  one  sunbeam  than 
in  a  whole  hemisphere  of  clouds  and  gloom.  Let  your 
cheerfulness  be  felt  for  good  wherever  you  are,  and 
let  your  smiles  be  scattered  like  sunbeams.  Such  a 
disposition  will  yield  a  rich  reward,  for  its  happy  ef 
fects  will  come  home  to  you  and  brighten  your  mo 
ments  of  thought. 

Cheerfulness  makes  the  mind  clear;   gives  tone  to 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  159 

thought,  and  adds  grace  and  beauty  to  the  counten 
ance.  Smiles  are  little  things,  cheap  articles  to  be 
fraught  with  so  many  blessings  both  to  the  giver  and 
the  receiver;  pleasant  little  ripples  to  watch  as  we 
stand  on  the  shore  of  every-day  life.  These  are  the 
higher  and  better  responses  of  nature  to  the  emotion 
of  the  soul.  Let  the  children  have  the  benefit  of  them. 
If  you  want  confidence,  prove  yourself  worthy  of  it. 
Deserve  success  and  it  wi'l  come;  do  not  be  content 
with  what  others  have  done,  surpass  it. 

What  pride  is  felt  by  parents  in  the  honest  success 
of  their  boys!  How  they  like  to  hear  of  his  good  and 
manly  behavior  in  school,  in  the  counting-house,  or  on 
the  deck  where  lives  are  to  be  saved  and  liberty  pre 
served.  That  parent  lived  for  some  purpose  that 
rooted  and  grounded  in  sound  principles,  equipping 
\vell  the  son  or  daughter  for  the  voyage  of  life.  It  is 
a  duty  the  neglect  of  which  is  sure  to  entail  sorrow 
and  shame.  Nice  families,  what  a  comfort  they  are  to 
their  homes.  You  are  sure  to  find  in  such  homes 
peace  and  prosperity.  We  are  not  doing  enough. 
John  Gray- says,  "-The  hand  lhat  rocks  the  cradle  rules 
the  world."  Dr.  Talmage  says,  "You  will  get  out  of 
the  world  just  so  much  as  you  earn  by  your  own  hand 
and  brain."  In  these  times  of  strife  and  clashing  wre 
should  attend  strictly  to  our  own  business,  that  will 
help  us  to  look  out  for  our  own  interests.  We  must 


160  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

be  willing  to  watch;  to  fight  with  steady  front;  to  repel 
temptation;  be  fearful  of  little  sins;  take  an  alarm  at 
even  an  evil  thought.  If  you  overcome  those  you  will 
not  have  a  desire  to  sin. 


Follow  the  Master. 
The  best  way  to  follow  the  Master 

Is  not  to  sit  at  our  ease 
And  cultivate  selfishly. 

.Our  own  hearts  to  please. 

But  to  proclaim  His  name  to  others, 
To  seek  souls  for  whom  He  died; 

Tell  them  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
For  them  was  crucified. 

When  Philip  came  to  Nathaniel 

No  uncertain  words  he  spoke; 
We  have  found  Him  of  whom  Moses 

And  the  Prophets  have  wrote. 

When  Nathaniel  objected, 

A  good  thing  out  of  Nazareth, 
How  can  that  be? 

How  practical  Philip's  retort,"Come  and  see." 


It  is  God's  holy  Sabbath  day; 

I  am  left  alone  to  read  and  pray, 
Dear  Lord,  this  clay  will  remembered  be, 

Thou  hast  shown  Thy  mysteries  unto  me. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  161 

The  day  has  glided  sweetly  by. 

And  I  must  go  and  make  my  tea; 
Soon  the  soft  and  silent  shades 

Will  throw  their  sombre  pall  o'er  me. 

This  holy  calm  within  my  breast, 

Makes  this  a  day  of  holy  rest; 
I  love  my  friends,  1  trust  I  have  no  foes; 

That's  why  from  Christ  I   draw    this  sweet 
repose. 


Evening  Prayer. 

Oh,  Lord,  will  Thou  bless  my  children  to-night; 

When  through  with  this  world 
May  they  wear  robes  of  white. 

And,  Oh  God,  may  they  see  in  the  light  of  thy  Son 

Who  suffered  and  died, 
That  those  robes  might  be  won. 


To  Those  I  Love. 

Walk  in  the  light;  so  shalt  thou  know 

That  fellowship  of  love, 
When  your  dear  mother  is  at  rest 

You'll  think  of  her  above.     • 

Walk  in  the  light,  and  you  shall  find 
Your  hearts  made  truly  His; 

Who  dwells  in  cloudless  light  enshrined, 
In  whom  no  darkness  is. 


i62  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

I  love  you  all,  my  dear  friends, 
You  are  to  me  so  sweet, 

I  pray  our  Lord  in  heaven  above 
We  all  with  Him  shall  meet. 


Hail  Easter  morn  that  saw  our  Lord  arise 

And  break  the  bands  of  death,  to  ascend  to  the  skies. 


Nature  again  is  in  its  bloom, 
Christ  has  risen  from  the  tomb; 
He  has  done  his  Father's  will, 
And  the  prophet's  words  fulfilled. 

A  beautiful  angel  dressed  in  white, 
Came  to  me  one  stormy  night; 
Her  eyes  were  blue,  her  hair  was  gold, 
A  lovely  creature  to  behold. 

I  said,  "You  came  from  our  God  of  love." 
She  said,  "Oh,  no,  He  dwells  above." 
She  glided  away,  I  began  to  fret, 
I  wanted  to  go,  but  she  said,  "Not  yet." 

Some  beautiful  clouds    came    down    from    the 

skies, 

And  made  a  ladder  to  my  surprise. 
She  mounted  the  clouds,  no  more  to  be  seen, 
And  I  awoke  to  find  it  a  dream. 


Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Wilson. 
My  dear  friend,  I  see  you  now, 
Seated  in  my  old  arm  chair, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  163 

With  face  aglow  and  heart  so  big 
That  you  can  scarcely  hold  it  there. 

You  have  faced  the  storms  of  winter  cold, 
To  cheer  the  heart  of  one  that's  old; 

An  angel  in  disguise  to  me, 

Filling  my  heart  with  joy  and  glee. 

May  your  paths  with  roses  bloom, 

And  fill  your  heart  with  sweet  perfume, 

That  everything  you  do  and  say 

May  bring  God's  blessing  every  day, 

And  happy  may  you  be 

Through  time  and  through  eternity. 


The   Change  of  Time. 

Oh  time  and  change,  my  hair  so  gray, 
And  still  I  pass  those  winter  days, 

How  strange  it  seems  with  so  much  gone, 
Of  light  and  love,  to  still  live  on. 

Alone,  look  where  I  may  the  wide  world  o'er, 
Those  loving  faces  smile  no  more. 


Home   Songs. 

Oh,  sing  once  more  those  joyful  strains, 

Which,  half  forgotten,  in  my  memory  dwell; 

They  send  the  life-blood  bounding  through  my  veins, 
And  circle  round  me  like  an  airy  spell. 

The  songs  of  home  are  to  the  human  heart 

Far  dearer  than  the  notes  that  song  birds  pour, 


164  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

And  of  our  inner  nature  seem  a  part; 

Then  sing  those  dear,  familiar  lays  once  more. 


Chris Cs  Last  Supper. 

The  time  was  at  hand  that  our  Lord  should  be  slain; 

To  die  on  th^  cross  for  poor  sinful  man. 
He  goes  into  the  holy  city,  with  splendor  untold, 

And  there  His  last  message  to  them  did  unfold. 

When  He  entered  that  city  He  was  not  at  a  loss; 

He  knew  that  His  Father  had  sent  Him  to  die  on 

the  cross. 
While  in  that  city  they  called  Him  their  King, 

And  loud  up  to  heaven  His  praises  did  sing. 

Yet  at  that  moment  He  knew  He  must  fall, 
Still  on  the  people,  aloud  He  did  call; 

The  time  for  that  supper  was  at  hand, 

When  to  His  disciples  He  gave  a  command. 

Go  to  the  city,  to  a  certain  man, 

Tell  him  "The  Master  saith,  my  time  is  at  hand." 

The  disciples  their  Lord  obeyed ; 

The  passover  on  the  table  was  laid, 
It  's  evening;  they  surround  the  board; 

My  soul,  stand  still,  while  I  gaze  on  my  Lord. 

As  He  breaks  that  bread, 

It  is  the  work  of  a  God,  I  hear  His  voice, 
I  see  the  flash  in  His  eye, 

He  knows  that  very  moment  for  man  He  must  die. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  165 

Oh,  what  agony  there    I  see; 

Hark  !     He  makes  that  solemn  decree, 
One  at  my  table  a  traitor  must  be. 

His  disciples  arise  with  a  loud  cry, 

Saying,  "Lord,  is  it  I?  Lord,  is  it  I?" 

Each  one  anxious  to  know  his  fate, 

Then   Jesus  saith,  "It  is  he  who  dippeth  with  me 
in  the  plate." 


Chrisfs  Travels. 

How  I  love  to  read  in  that  history  of  old, 

Where  our  Saviour  has  traveled,  the  truth  to  un 
fold. 

Oh,  Gethsemane,  once  the  scene  of  despair, 

With  thy  beautiful  foliage  and  clover  beds  fair. 

Where  our  Saviour  knelt  in  agonized  prayer; 

When  He  prayed  to  His  Father,  His  will  to  be 
done, 

Then  God  sent  an  angel  to  comfort  His  Son. 

Dear  Mount  of  Olives,  you  ne'r  can  unfold; 

Half  of  your  glory  can  never  be  told. 

Those    venerable    oaks,    that's  a  thousand  years 

old 

If  they  could  tell  their  history  of  youth, 
No  doubt  would  -tell  us  a  great  many  truths. 
Where  our  Saviour  in  agonized  prayer, 
Knelt  under  their  branches,   and   prayed  for  us 

there. 

Thou  that  hung  bleeding  on  that  rough  tree, 
Yes,  blessed  Saviour,  Thou  died  for  me. 


166  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

We  will  strain  every  nerve,  we  will  strive  for  the 

prize, 
For  our  calling  in  Christ,  a  home  in  the  skies. 

Make  me,  O  Father,  more  grateful  for  life, 
More  anxious  to  serve,  more  like  him  to  be, 
Who  gave  His  own  life,  a  ransom  for  me. 
'Till  the  summons  I  hear,  in  accents  of  love, 
"Daughter,  come  higher,  and  serve  me  above." 


Condolence. 
Dear  friends,  I  am  sorry  for  your  loss, 

I  know  it  is  hard  to  bear: 
If  you  will  look  to  our  Lord  of  love, 

He  will  help  you  in  your  prayer. 

The  cloud  that  seems  so  dark  to-day, 

May  overflow  with  love, 
And  sends  his  blessings  on  your  head. 

Right  from  the  courts  above. 


Rebekah  at  the    Well 
I  think  our  pastor  to  us  did  unfold 

A  beautiful  story,  of  Rebekah,  of  old. 
That  angel  that  came  to  the  well, 

Must  have  strengthened  our  pastor, 
That  story  to  tell. 

Great  was  the  faith  of  the  prophets  of  old, 

To  ask  that  God's  angels  the  truth  might  unfold. 

Rebekah  was  destined  by  God's  holy  will, 

To  let  down  her  pitcher  and  draw  from  the  well. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  167 

We  read  that  Jacob's  well  had  a  large  demand, 
And  watered  the  people  and  cattle  of  thatland; 

But  we  have  a  fountain  from  dear  Jesus'  side, 
That   strengthens  and  helps  us  the  storms  to 
outride; 

And  if  we  are  faithful  and  do  our  best, 

He  will  take  us  up  yonder,  in  heaven  to  rest. 


Peters  Mother -in- Law. 

The  compassionate  Master  takes  her  by  the  hand, 

The  fever  leaves  at  His  command; 

She  arises  with  strength  to  do  good, 
And  goes  forth  and  serves  them  food. 


A  Morning  Prayer. 
From  my  bed  I  will  arise, 
To  thank  my  Father  in  the  skies, 
That  He  has  kept  me  through  the  night, 
That  I  once  more  behold  the  light. 

Thou  didst  send  Thy  blessings  from  above, 
To  fill  my  soul  with  perfect  love, 
And  lead  me  through  this  world  of  strife, 
Up  to  the  courts  of  endless  life. 

When  wrecked  with  pain  and  sore  distressed, 

That  I  could  not  have  any  rest, 

Around  my  bed  where  the  shadows  meet, 

I  would  hear  a  voice  that  was  so  sweet. 

"I  am  thy  Father,  do  my  will; 

Peace  be  still,  peace  be  still." 


168  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Minneapolis,  May  25. 

The  cold  spring  has  passed  away,  and  birds, 
And  bees,  and  flowers,  and  trees,  are  all  in  nature's 

garb. 
I  know  there  is  a  union   twixt   nature's    heart    and 

mine. 

I  love  landscape,  birds  and  flowers, 
And  in  every  bower  I  can  see  God's  love  divine. 

Oh.  dear  friends,  you  might  wander  far  and  wide, 
Nor  find  a  spot  in  the  country's  pride, 
So  fair  to  us  as  the  north-east  side. 

Far  away  from  the  haunts  of  sin, 
And  the  noxious  breath  of  distillery  men, 
We  pass  our  days  in  sweet  content, 
As  down  the  valley  of  life  we  are  sent. 

And  I  hope  dear  friends  when  we  cross  that  tide, 

That  we  will  then  in  love  abide, 

And  tell  our  trials  while  here  below, 

How  we  traveled  our  paths  through  weal  and  woe. 


Christ's  Baptism. 
God  sent  his  son  to  dwell  on  earth, 
To  conquer  man's  rebellious  will; 

He  gave  His  blood  their  hearts  to  win. 

To  save  them  from  the  power  of  sin. 

He  came  to  His  own,  they  received  Him  not;" 
They  thought  God's  Son  must  come 

With  splendor  untold, 

To  them  the  mysteries  of  heaven  unfold. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  169 

Christ  journeys  over  hill  and  dale, 
Until  He  gathers  up  a  band; 

He  fills  their  hearts  with  love  to  God, 

And  gives  them  great  command. 

John,  girded  and  bold  came  preaching 
In  the  wilderness,  as  the  prophets  foretold, 
Saying,  "  Repent  ye,  the  kingdom  is  at  hand, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  will  soon  take  command." 

John  was  baptizing  in  Jordan's  flood, 
Said  to  the  people,  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God." 
Jesus  came  to  John,  made  a  demand, 
That  he  should  baptise  Him  to  fulfill  that  great 
command. 

The  prophet  baptized  Him, 
Beneath  the  rolling  wave, 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  who  came 

The  world  to  save. 

When  coming  out  of  the  water, 
The  spirit  from  above, 

Lit  upon  our  Saviour 

In  the  form  of  a  dove. 

Then  by  the  spirit  to  the. wilderness  was  led, 
Tempted  forty  days  without  eating  bread, 

Jesus  bore  all  our  burdens  dark  with  sin. 

That  He  might  knowr  how  to  pity  us  when  we 
come  to  Him. 


The  Death  Angel. 
When  the  Angel  of  Death 
Spreads  his  wing  o'er  my  pillow, 


170  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

The  days  of  my  life  will  be  done. 
When  the  shadows  of  death 
Are  gathered  around  me; 

Oh  then  I  will  trust  in  the  Son. 


Minneapolis,  May  77,   1894.. 

This  morning  I  have  seated  myself  to  write.  The 
chilly  atmosphere  causes  me  to  take  my  wraps  and  I 
sit  looking  out  on  Northeast  Minneapolis,  with  its 
beautiful  green  fields.  I  can  look  up  the  hill  and  see 
lovely  groves  dressed  with  their  robes  of  nature.  Min 
neapolis  is  a  beautiful  city,  with  our  noble  Mississippi 
running  through  the  center;  the  falls  of  St.  Anthony 
sending  its  sparkling  water  down  over  the  rapids  be 
low,  and  you  may  travel  the  country  over  and  find 
nothing  more  beautiful  than  the  falls  of  Minnehaha, 
with  its  waters  sparkling  in  the  sun. 

Fair  Minnehaha,  you  can  boast  over  all, 

With  your  grand  simplicity  in  nature's  fall, 
Fair  laughing  water.     We  stand  on  your  brink 

And  see  on  this  footstool  here  below 

Such  radiant  gems  of  beauty  flow 
With  glittering  diamonds  fraught. 

And  I  think  how  good  God  was  to  place  us  in  this 
beautiful  world.  It  is  true  we  have  aches  and  pains 
and  sorrows.  That  is  how  our  Father  chastizes  his 
children,  and  the  more  severely  we  are  dealt  with,  the 
more  beautiful  our  home  over  there. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  171 

I  hope  we  may  all  in  truth  abide 

Till  we  cross  over  to  the  other  side; 

No  forms  or  crosses  shall  we  have  that  day 

They  will  float  on  the  river  of  death  far  away. 


The    Cross. 

Christ  is  our  great  example  in  cross-bearing.  He 
had  nowhere  to  lay  his  head,  not  a  rag  to  cover  him  in 
death,  nor  anything  but  a  borrowed  grave  for  burial. 
He  says,  "Come,  take  up  thy  cross  and  follow  me." 
To  the  end  of  life  the  way  of  Christ  is  a  cross-bearing 
way,  full  of  self-denial.  Are  we  willing  to  stand  at 
that  point  and  identify  ourselves  with  his  followers?  I 
remember  hearing  of  a  lady  who  was  always  trying  to 
do  great  things  for  the  Lord,  and  because  she  could 
not,  she  never  did  anything.  There  are  a  great  many 
who  would  be  willing  to  do  great  things  that  would 
not  stoop  to  small  things.  To  such  I  would  say, 
"Little  drops  of  water,  little  grains  of  sand,  make  the 
mighty  ocean  and  the  pleasant  land." 

Are  we  trusting  in  a  righteousness  of  our  own?  I 
hope  if  we  are,  we  shall  leave  that  loom.  They  are 
the  gossamer  threads  of  our  own  vows  and  promises, 
ever  snapping  in  our  hand  and  breaking  at  every 
throw  of  the  shuttle.  The  robe  of  righteousness  a 
raiment  for  our  souls  and  approved  by  God,  was  never 
woven  there,  it  was  wrought  upon  the  cross. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Oh,  think  of  our  Lord  that  bore  all  our  shame, 
And  died  on  the  cross  for  poor  sinful  man; 
That  cross  that  he  carried  to  set  our.  hearts  free 
Was  a  rude,  heavy  cross  made  out  of  a  tree. 

I  imagine  Him  reeling  under  His  load; 
No  doubt  he  had  lost  most  of  his  blood. 
A  stranger  took  hold  of  that  rough  tree 
And  bore  it  away  to  calvary. 

In  the  morning  at  the  hour  of  nine 
Our  Lord  to  the  cross  they  did  confine, 
And  soldiers,  by  the  king's  command 
Drove  nails  into  his  feet  and  hands. 

You  say  you  see  no  beauty  in 
That  blessed  Christ  that  died  for  sin ; 
Embrace  the  cross  with  all  your  heart 
And  then  from  sin  you  will  depart.    « 

If  you  will  count  all  things  but  dross, 
And  humbly  cling  upon  the  cross; 
It  will  help  you  through  this  world  of  strife 
Up  to  the  courts  of  endless  life. 


Home. 

That  sweet  word  home,  where  affection  dwells 
filled  with  shrines  the  heart  hath  builded.  Home  is 
not  merely  roof  and  room,  what  would  it  be  to  us 
without  some  one  to  cheer  it  and  love  us;  "Home, 
sweet  home."  It  is  often  murmured  through  our 
tears.  How  it  is  linked  with  our  childhood  days.  The 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  173 

purest  feelings  of  our  heart  still  cluster  round  our 
home.  What  a  resting  place,  where  weary  thought 
may  dream  away  its  care.  Even  the  little  dove  re 
turns  to  the  place  from  which  she  flew,  and  the  mar 
iner  is  xrery  superstitious  as  he  leaves  his  native  land. 
He  fancies  he  must  have  some  omen  to  insure  him  that 
he  will  return.  He  loves  home  and  mother,  if  he  has 
one.  Let  him  stand  on  the  surf  beaten  coast  of  the  At 
lantic  or  roam  over  western  wilds,  and  every  dash  of  the 
wave  and  murmur  of  the  breeze  will  whisper,  "Home, 
sweet  home."  I  think  it  is  very  dear  to  the  seaman. 
When  they  rove  through  the  green  groves  and  over 
the  sunny  slopes  of  the  south,  it  matters  not  how  beau 
tiful,  you  will  hear  them  exclaim.  "There  is  no  place 
like  home." 

I  have  heard  them  when  they  never  dreamed  that  I 
was  listening  to  them,  and  some  of  their  sentences 
would  send  the  life  blood  bounding  through  my  veins 
and  circle  around  like  a  spell.  As  rough  and  uncouth 
as  they  appeared,  they  would  talk  of  their  childhood 
homes  till  my  eyes  would  fill  with  tears.  Some  would 
not  appear  to  know  what  a  home  was.  That  class 
you  would  find  more  hardened.  You  could  soon  pick 
those  out  that  had  been  cultured  by  a  mother;  their 
sympathy  was  deeper,  their  deportment  better.  What 
a  deep  feeling  I  had  for  them.  How  I  would  have 
liked  to.  teach  them,  if  I  could  have  been  a  missionary 


174  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

to  them  in  their  idle  hours,  when  they  were  not  on 
duty.  But  my  father  would  not  allow  me  to  speak  to 
one  of  them,  nor  they  to  me.  I  was  young,  and  father 
no  doubt  knew  what  was  best  for  me.  I  remember 
one  of  those  seamen  that  was  naturally  very,  very 
wicked.  I  have  heard  very  hard  language  from  his 
lips,  but  he  did  not  know  that  I  was  near  him.  In  my 
presence  he  never  would  speak  a  disrespectful  word 
to  his  brother  seamen.  Our  presence  often  gives  in 
fluence. 

A  few  years  since  I  heard  a  lecture  from  Dr.  Tal- 
mage  on  "Home"  that  has  always  impressed  me.  I 
thought  how  beautifully  he  described  that  city  of  our 
God.  I  have  had  so  many  of  those  illustrations.  If 
we  will  encourage  that  inward  intuition  I  think  we 
could  have  more  of  those  things  revealed  to  us.  We 
certainly  can  have  gifts  given  us  that  we  never  dreamed 
of.  "Ask  and  ye  shall  receive"  are  the  words  of  our 
dear  Lord,  and  they  are  sure,  if  we  ask  for  the  things 
we  need. 

This  is  what  he  said :  "At  the  best  state  we  are 
only  pilgrims  and  strangers,  Heaven  is  to  be  our 
eternal  home.  Death  vvill  never  knock  at  the  door  of 
that  mansion,  and  in  all  that  land  there  will  not  be  a 
single  grave.  Aged  parents  rejoice  very  much  when 
on  Christmas  day  they  have  their  children  at  home, 
but  there  is  most  always  a  son  or  a  daughter,  absent, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  175 

absent  from  the  country,  perhaps  absent  from  the 
world.  But  oh,  our  Heavenly  Father  will  rejoice  in 
the  long  thanksgiving  day  of  heaven,  when  He  has  all 
His  children  with  Him  in  glory.  How  glad  brothers 
and  sisters  will  be  to  meet  after  so  long  a  separation. 
Perhaps  a  score  of  years  ago  they  parted  at  the  door 
of  the  tomb.  Now  they  meet  again  at  the  door  of  im 
mortality.  Once  they  looked  through  a  glass  darkly, 
now,  face  to  face;  corruption — incorruption,  mortality 
— immortality.  Where  now  are  all  their  sorrows, 
temptations  and  trials?  Overwhelmed  in  the  red  sea 
of  death,  while  they,  dry  shod,  march  on  to  glory. 
Gates  of  jasper,  capstone  of  amethyist,  thrones,  do 
minions,  do  not  so  much  affect  my  soul  as  the  thought 
of  home.  Once  there,  let  earthly  sorrow  howl  like 
storms  and  roll  like  seas.  Home— let  thrones  rot  and 
empires  wither.  Home — let  the  earth  die  in  earth 
quake  struggles  and  be  buried  amid  processions  of 
planets  and  dirge  of  spheres.  Home — let  everlasting 
ages  roll  in  irresistible  sweep.  Home— no  sorrow,  no 
crying,  no  tears,  no  death,  but  "Home,  sweet  home," 
beautiful  home. 

One  twilight,  after  I  had  been  playing  with  the 
children  for  some  time,  I  laid  down  on  the  lounge  to 
rest.  The  children  said,  "Play  more."  Children  al 
ways  want  to  play  more,  and  half  asleep  and  half 
awake  I  seemed  to  dream  this  dream.  It  seemed  to 


176  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

me  I  was  in  a  far  distant  land — not  Persia,  although 
more  than  tropical  fruitfulness  filled  the  gardens;  not 
Italy,  although  more  than  Italian  softness  filled  the  air, 
and  I  wandered  around  looking  for  thorns  and  nettles, 
but  I  found  none  of  them  grew  there:  and  I  walked 
forth  and  saw  the  sun  rise,  and  I  said,  "When  will  it 
set  again?"  But  the  sun  sank  not. 

And  I  saw  ail  the  people  in  holiday  apparel,  and  I 
said,  "When  will  they  put  on  working-men's  garb, 
and  delve  in  the  mine  and  swelter  at  the  forger"  But 
neither  the  garment  nor  the  robe  did  they  put  off. 

And  I  wandered  in  the  suburbs,  and  I  said,  "Where 
do  they  bury  the  dead  of  this  great  city?"  And  I 
looked  along  by  the  hills  where  it  would  be  most 
beautiful  for  the  dead  to  sleep,  and  I  saw  castles  and 
town  and  battlements,  but  not  a  mausoleum,  not  a 
monument  or  white  slab  could  I  see,  and  I  went  into 
the  great  chapel  of  the  town  and  I  said,  "Where  do 
they  worship?  Where  are  the  benches  where  the 
poor  sit?"  and  a  voice  answered,  "We  have  no  poor 
in  this  great  city." 

And  I  wandered  out,  seeking  to  find  the  place 
where  were  the  hovels  of  the  destitute,  and  I  found 
mansions  of  amber,  ivory  and  gold,  but  no  tears  did  I 
see  or  sighs  hear.  I  was  bewildered,  and  as  I  sat  un 
der  the  shadow  of  a  great  tree  I  said.  "What  am  I, 
and  whence?  And  whence  comes  all  this?"  And  at 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  177 

that  moment  there  came  from  among  the  leaves,  skip 
ping  up  the  flowery  paths  and  across  the  sparkling 
waters,  a  bright  and  dazzling  group.  And  when  I 
saw  their  step  I  knew  it;  and  when  I  heard  their 
voices,  I  thought  I  knew  them,  but  their  apparel  was 
so  different  from  anything  I  had  ever  seen  that  I 
bowed  as  a  stranger  to  strangers,  but  when  they 
clapped  their  hands  and  shouted  "Welcome,  wel 
come,"  the  mystery  was  solved,  and  then  I  knew  that 
time  had  passed  and  eternity  had  come,  and  God  had 
gathered  us  up  into  a  higher  home.  And  I  said,  "Are 
we  all  here?"  And  the  voices  of  innumerable  gen 
erations  answered,  "All  here."  And  while  tears  of 
gladness  were  raining  down  our  cheeks,  and  the 
branches  of  the  Lebanon  cedars  were  clapping  their 
hands  and  the  towers  of  the  great  city  were  chiming 
their  welcome,  we  began  to  laugh,  and  sing,  and  leap, 
and  shout,  "Home,  home,  home  !" 

My  dear  readers,  won't  it  be  beautiful  if  all  that  is 
described  here  is  true,  of  which  I  believe  the  half 
could  never  be  told.  We  want  to  serve  our  Heav 
enly  Father  with  a  pure  love,  and  if  we  do  we  shall 
love  our  fellow  creatures.  I  do*  not  believe  we  were 
put  here  to  die  as  the  grass  of  the  fields.  That 
spirit  t'uat  God  breathed  into  man  can  never  die. 

The  old  house  will  fall  to  the  ground, 

But  that  spirit  immortal  will  not  in  it  be  found. 


178  '  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

There  is  no  death;  an  angel  form 

Walks  o'er  the  earth  with  silent  tread, 

He  bears  our  best  loved  things  away, 
And  then  we  call  them  dead. 

"  Let  not  your  hearts  be  troubled,"  our  blessed 
Saviour  said,  "  My  Father's  house  has  many  man 
sions  and  I  go  before  you  to  prepare  a  place  for  you," 
and  when  He  spoke  these  words  to  his  disciples,  He 
spoke  to  all  those  who  would  love  and  serve  the 
Father.  Let  us  serve  Him,  and  after  we  pass  the 
portals,  we  shall  then  commence  to  grow,  when  we 
get  rid  of  this  house  of  clay  that  is  ever  holding  the 
better  part  back,  because  it's  earthly.  We  will  see 
our  little  ones  expanded  from  the  bud  to  the  full 
grown  flower.  Longfellow  says: 

"  She  is  not  dead,  the  child  of  our  affection, 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule." 

That,  dear  reader, is  my  sentiment;  J  firmly  believe 
we  shall  pass  away  to  live  again.  We  have  to  get 
our  daily  bread  here,  and  in  these  financial  distresses 
that  are  laid  upon  the  poor,  we  have  but  little  means 
to  do  with;  but  perhaps  it  will  draw  us  nearer  that 
bleeding  side  that  died  for  us,  and  if  it  does,  He  has 
promised  to  make  a  way  for  our  escape.  But  we 
must  remember  that  faith  without  works  is  dead.  So 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  179 

we  must  open  our  eyes  and  try,  and  at  the  same  time 
give  our  hearts  to  our  Heavenly  Father. 

It  makes  no  difference  how  splendidly  we  build. 
So  far  as  this  world  is  concerned,  our  lives  are  a  fail 
ure,  if  we  build  not  so  we  can  go  out  into  the  great 
future,  and  make  the  harbor  of  eternal  life.  We  are 
to  live  on;  we  are  to  live  again.  I  believe  we  are  to 
live  on  without  a  break.  Death  is  not  an  end,  it  is  a 
new  impulse.  We  are  discharged  out  of  this  life,  to 
go  on,  and  on,  until  we  are  made  perfect. 

God  has  put  us  here  to  make  the  world  brighter, 
happier  and*  better  by  our  lives.  Every  one  should 
study  how  he  could  be  a  blessing  to  others.  The 
world  is  after  the  best  thing.  We  must  show  them 
that  we  have  something  better  than  they  have.  Let 
us  cheer  up  the  discouraged.  If  the  love  of  God 
beats  in  warm  pulsation?  in  our  hearts,  how  easy  it 
will  be  to  win  souls  to  Christ.  We  must  ask  our 
Heavenly  Father  to  help  us  to  become  pure  in  heart. 
No  one  can  become  a  Christian  without  direct  aid  of 
the  Holy  Spirit. 

My  dear  readers,  I  suppose  you  will  say  this  old 
lady  has  a  vivid  imagination.  If  you  will  stop  one 
moment  and  think,  what  is  life  t  How  soon  we  are 
to  pass  awav  to  be  here  no  more.  If  we  will  put  our 
trust  in  that  Saviour  who  died  on  the  cross,  that  we 


180  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

might  have  eternal  life,  God  will  give  us  through  his 
Son,  if  we  ask  in  faith,  believing  on  Him. 

If  the  world  could  know  that  repose, 
Which  none  but  he  that  feels  it  knows; 
That  heavenly  calm  within  the  breast, 
Who  in  their  Saviour  put  their  trust. 
Life  is  a  battle  to  be  fought  inspired  by  high  and 
honorable   resolves.     We  must  stand  to  our  post,  and 
know  that   we   are   doing  our  duty.     Nothing  looks 
plainer  to  me  than  Christ  had  to  come  into  this  world, 
suffer  and  die  for  us,  that  the  prophet's  words  should 
not  become  false.     What  darkness  must  have  covered 
the  earth.     We  read,  gross  darkness  had  covered  the 
minds    of   the    people.     The    prophets    had   all  been 
taken  from  the   earth.     There   was   no    one    left    for 
God    to    speak   through  to  his  people,   and    Christ's 
time  had  not  yet  come,  that  He  should  be  born. 

A  great  darkness,  political,  moral  and  religious 
covered  the  chosen  people  among  whom  the  Christ 
must  be  born,  and  they  longed  for  a  deliverer,  who 
should  ransom  them  from  their  slavery  to  Rome. 
They  believed  in  the  prophecies,  and  were  looking 
for  their  fulfillment,  and  they  were  not  to  be  disap 
pointed.  Redemption  was  nigh  at  hand. 


Christ's  Birth. 

Our  Father  in  heaven  had  given  command. 
And  redemption  was  near  at  hand; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  181 

His  people  were  filled  with  delight, 

Out  of  the  darkness  was  coming  great  light. 

Joseph  and  Mary  were  on  their  way 
To  Bethlehem  city,  to  be  enrolled; 
That  it  might  come  to  pass 
What  the  prophets  foretold. 

God  had  spoken  the  word  long  before, 

They  were  coming  to  Bethlehem  with  rich  and  poor. 

They  could  not  stay  in  Nazareth  it  was  too  obscure. 

We  cannot  help  thinking  it  was  a  sin, 

For  those  people  to  say,  "  There  is  no  room  in  the 

inn." 

Mary  must  have  felt  weak  and  forlorn, 
To  retire  to  the  stable  where  our  Saviour  was  born. 

No  doubt  it  caused  Mary  to  weep, 

Sitting  surrounded  by  oxen  and  sheep. 

But  she  knew  the  history  of  her  little  son, 

And  could  say,  "My  Father,  Thy  will  be  done." 

It  was  night  in  the  city,  all  were  at  rest, 
Mothers  and  babes,  beautifully  dressed; 
Out  in  a  stable  a  baby  there  lay, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  upon  the  damp  hay. 

The  prophets  foretold  of  a  very  high  plan, 
That  the  angels  in  heaven  should  tell  it  to  man. 

The  angels  came  all  glittering  and  bright; 
Told  the  shepherds  who  watched  that  night, 


i8a  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

That  God's  Son  had  His  birth, 

And  came  to  dwell  with  men  on  earth. 


My  imagination  is  very  vivid  upon  the  Christ-child. 
I  see  that  lovely  babe  whom  God  had  sent  from 
heaven,  with  no  place  to  lay  his  head  but  upon  the 
damp  hay.  And  I  see  that  beautiful  star  struggling 
against  some  angry  clouds,  as  if  determined  to  shut  it 
out.  But  at  that  moment  God  sends  a  heavenly 
breeze;  the  thickening  clouds  are  broken;  the  star 
seems  to  take  heart.  Brighter  and  brighter  were  its 
mild  beams  until  it  stood  over  that  stable  where  the 
flower  that  was  to,  bloom  through  time  and  eternity 
lay  folded  on  its  mother's  breast.  And  He  shall  live, 
and  to  Him  shall  be  given  of  the  gold  of  Sheba.  His 
name  shall  endure  forever;  blessed  be  His  holy  name 
forever;  let  the  whole  earth  be  filled  with  His  glory. 

Religion  is  a  life  of  burden  bearing.  We  must  not 
fret  at  our  crosses  and  they  will  be  the  lighter.  We 
must  bow  before  our  trials  as  I  have  read  the  trav 
elers  do  when  overtaken  in  the  desert  by  the  dread 
ful  simoon.  When  that  cry  arises,  striking  teror  into 
the  boldest  hearts,  and  the  purple  haze  sweeps  on, 
which  to  breathe  is  death,  they  make  no  attempt  to 
fly.  They  throw  themselves  on  the  ground,  every 
head  is  muffled,  and  low  in  the  dust,  trembling  with 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  183 

awful  silence  they  lie,  and  let  the  poisonous  wind  blow 
over  them.  Hide  thee  in  the  dust  is  the  voice  of 
God.  Let  us  build  for  eternity.  A  ship,  however 
beautiful  she  may  be,  is  not  good  for  anything  unless 
she  can  battle  with  the  deep. 


Speak   Kindly. 

Speak  kindly  in  the  morning, 
It  lightens  the  care  of  the  day, 

And  makes  the  household  happy, 
As  they  travel  on  life's  weary  way. 

Speak  kindly  at  night,  for  it  may  be, 
Before  the  dawn  of  the  day, 

That  some  one  has  finished  the  journey, 
And  has  traveled  from  you  far  away. 


Those  beautiful  lines  came  to  me  this  morning  be 
fore  I  left  my  bed.  I  arose  before  six  to  write  them 
down.  I  am  anxious  to  finish  my  book.  That  is  why 
an  old  lady  rises  early  in  the  quiet  of  the  morning, 
when  nature  is  at  rest.  Then  we  have  more  power 
of  the  brain,  and  we  are  better  prepared  to  get  our 
work  in  for  the  day;  and  the  first  thing  for  me  to  re 
member  is,  to  speak  kindly  through  the  day.  I  think 
those  lines  were  sent  to  me  this  beautiful  morning, 
expressly  for  that  purpose.  My  prayer  through  life 


184  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

has  been,  that  God  would  give  me  some  blessing  in 
my  old  age,  that  I  might  impart  it  to  others. 

My  nature  is  such  that  I  cannot  enjoy  life  by  folding 
my  hands.  When  I  am  very  weak  God  answers  my 
childhood  prayers.  He  sends  inspirations  upon  me 
that  make  me  very  happy,  and  I  feel  that  my  old  age 
is  more  beautiful  than  my  childhood,  although  in  that 
stage  of  my  life  I  never  knew  want.  Plenty  crowned 
our  board;  but  happiness  does  not  consist  in  riches. 
It  matters  not  how  much  we  possess  unless  our  heart 
is  right  before  God  there  will  be  at  times  an  aching 
void.  We  may  revel  in  the  depths  of  pleasure  and 
think  that  we  are  happy.  Idleness  is  not  rest.  The 
poor  man  with  industry  is  happier  than  the  rich  man 
in  indolence.  Labor  makes  the  one  more  manly, 
while  riches  unmans  the  other.  The  slave  is  often 
happier  than  his  master,  who  is  nearer  undone  by  li 
cense  than  his  vassal  is  by  toil.  Luxurious  couches, 
plushy  carpets  from  oriental  looms,  pillows  of  eider 
down,  carriages  contrived  with  cushions  and  springs 
to  make  motion  imperceptible — is  the  indolent  master 
of  these  as  happy  as  the  slave  who  weaves  the  carpet, 
or  the  servant  wrho  drives  the  pampered  steed? 

Let  those  who  envy  the  gay  revels  of  city  idlers, 
who  pine  for  their  masquerades,  their  routs,  and  op 
eras,  experience  for  a  week  the  lassitude  of  their  ex 
istence,  the  unarousable  torpor  of  their  life  when  not 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  .      185 

under  a  fiery  stimulus.  If  we  would  stop  and  think 
we  would  be  quite  contented  with  our  sphere  of  life. 

These  words  come  back  again,  "Speak  kindly  at  all 

• 

times."  It  encourages  the  downcast,  cheers  the  sor 
rowing,  and  very  likely  awakens  the  erring  to  earnest 
resolves  to  do  better,  with  strength  to  keep  them. 
Kind  words  are  balm  to  the  soul  and  they  put  mettle 
into  our  blood  and  carry  us  over  some  crises  that  if 
we  had  not  had  those  kind  words  we  would  have  sunk 
under  our  loads. 

There  is  little  greatness  that  is  worth  the  name  that 
is  not  founded  upon  and  accompanied  by  sound  moral 
Christian  principles.  How  unreliable  are  the  require 
ments  of  men  if  no  religious  principles  give  tone  to 
their  impulses.  We  should  use  good  influence,  that  it 
may  go  on  and  on.  There  is  nothing  good  and  beau 
tiful  that  ever  dies  and  is  forgotten.  Dear  readers, 
we  will  all  speak  kindly  through  this  financial  strife. 
Perhaps  the  dreaded  is  not  so  bad  as  we  think.  The 
Lord  may  sweeten  the  water  before  we  stop  to  drink 
1894. 


Lazarus  Given  Back  to  His  Sisters. 

Our  dear  Saviour,  while  here  among  men, 
Blessed  those  that  were  filled  with  despair, 

I  can  see  Mary  now  as  she  waits  on  her  Lord, 
And  wipes  His  feet  with  her  hair. 


186  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Mary's  brother  lay  sick  unto  death, 

It  was  Lazarus  our  Lord  loved  so  well; 

Mary  sent  a  message  unto  Him, 
This  story  she  did  tell. 

She  said,  dear  Lord,  come  to  us  quick, 

He  whom  Thou  lovest  is  very  sick. 
But  from  he  whom  he  loved  He  stayed  long  away, 

That  God  might   be  glorified  through  Lazarus' 
mortal  clay. 

When  Jesus  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  town, 

There  Martha  met  him  with  grief  bowed  down. 

Then  Martha  aloud  to  her  Lord  did  cry. 

Dear  Lord,  if  Thou  had  been  here,  my  brother 
would  not  have  died. 

Martha  had  great  faith  in  her  Lord  of  love, 

She  said,  whatever  Thou  asketh 
Thy  Father  will  grant  from  above. 

I  am  the  resurrection,  if  on  Me  ye  will  believe, 
Though  he  be  dead,  yet  shall  he  live; 

Then  Martha  went,  her  sister  to  see, 

Saying,  the  Master  has  come  and  calleth  for  thee. 

And  soon  as  Mary  heard  what  her  sister  said, 
She  rose  up  quickly  and  came  to  her  Lord. 

The  Jews  who  came  from  afar, 

Arose  up  quickly  and  followed  her  there. 

Then  Mary,  as  Martha  cried, 

O  Lord,  if  thou  had  been  here, 
My  brother  would  not  have  died ; 

And  when  He  saw  them  weeping. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  187 

Knowing  that  death  into  their  home  had  crept, 
He   groaned  in  spirit,  and  was  troubled.     Jesus 
wept. 

The  stone  from  the  tomb  has  been  rolled  away, 

And  Jesus  stands  before  Lazarus'  clay; 
Then  He  calls  on   His  Father  to  give   strength  to 

His  Son, 

That  the  people  might  see  that  these  three  are 
one. 

When  unto  Lazarus  He  cries,  "Come  forth," 
Out  of  his  bed  of  clav  he  has  new  birth. 

*/ 

Lazarus'  spirit  strives. 

Strength  returns  and  hope  revives. 

Four  days  in  the  tomb; 

Now  he  stands  in  mortal  bloom. 
Christ  says,  "  Loose  him,  let  him  go," 

To  the  world  God's  power  he'll  show. 


How  those  two  sisters  must  have  thanked  the  Mas 
ter  for  their  brother's  life !  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  Mary  washed  His  feet  with  her  tears,  and 
wiped  them  with  the  hair  of  her  head  when  she 
knew  what  her  Lord  had  done  for  her  brother.  The 
miracles  of  our  Saviour  were  never  wrought  in  an 
ostentatious  way-  Never  were  they  wrought  for  the 
purpose  of  exalting  Himself.  Multitudes  resorted  to 
Him  for  help.  His  miracles  were  like  general  acts  of 


i88  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

kindness.     As  they  are  laid  down  in  the  gospel  they 
represent  the  heart  of  God. 

There  is  a  singular  sweetness  in  our  Lord's  words. 
He  had  comfort  and  cheer  for  all  who  came  to  Him. 
He  is  the  same  to-day.  He  never  changes.  If  we 
will  look  away  from  ourselves  He  is  ever  present  to 
help.  He  says,  "As  one  whom  a  mother  comforteth 
so  will  1  comfort  you." 


The  Empty  Tomb. 

.Ye  seek  your  Lord?     He  is  not  here.     Behold 
The  place  where  our  Lord  lay.     That  sepulcher 
Shines  with  a  light  brighter  than  the  sun. 
The  Prince  of  Peace  lay  in  that  tomb. 

Our  Lord  is  risen  to  light  our  path, 
And  lead  us  up  to  heaven. 
If  we  repent  and  believe  on  him 
We  may  all  have  our  sins  forgiven. 

He  tarried  with  those  that  loved  him,  forty  days, 
He  instructs  them  pertaining   to    God    and   the 

kingdom. 

At  last  the  time  comes  that  He  must  depart, 
To  send  what  was  promised  to  every  heart, 
To  fit  them  to  dwell  in  His  kingdom. 

He  journeyed  with  them  toward  Bethany. 
He  checks  their  anxious  fear; 
He  bids  them  wait  in  the  Holy  City, 
Till  the  Comforter  should  appear. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  189 

That  would  fill  their  souls  with  wisdom 
To  reach  the  hearts  of  men, 
That  He  might  reign  triumphant 
Over  death  and  sin. 

He  lifts  His  hands  and  blesses  them, 

And  in  that  very  act, 

A  beautiful  cloud  comes  down  from  the  skies 

And  carries  our  Saviour  back. 

That  cloud  still  rolls  between  us 
And  our  dear  Lord. 
Prayer  can  rise  above  it, 
According  to  His  word. 

His  blessing  can  drop  through  it, 
Like  the  gentle,  refreshing  rain 
Upon  the  thirsty  soil  of  our  hearts, 
And  help  us  His  cause  to  maintain. 

Though  He  has  gone  away  from  us, 

Still  He  is  very  near; 

His  holy  spirit  He  sends  to  us, 

It  takes  away  bur  fear; 

And  now  the  Christian  church 
Is  waiting  for  the  time  when  the 
Promise  of  the  angel  will  make 
All  things  sublime. 


Know  Thyself. 
When  gentle  twilight  sits 

On  day's  forsaken  throne, 
'Mid  the  sweet  hush  of  eventide, 

Muse  by  thyself  alone, 


190  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

And  at  the  time  of  rest, 
Ere  sleep  asserts  its  power 

Hold  pleasant  converse  with  thyself 
In  meditation's  bower. 

Motives  and  deeds  review 

By  memory's  truthful  glass, 
Thy  silent  self  the  only  judge 

And  critic,  as  they  pass. 
And  if  thy  wayward  face 

Should  give  thy  consience  pain 
Resolve  with  energy  divine 

Thy  victory  to  gain. 

When  morning's  earliest  rays 

O'er  spire  and  rooftree  fall. 
Gladly  invite  thy  waking  heart 

Into  a  festival 
Of  smiles  and  love  to  all, 

The  lowliest  and  the  least, 
And  of  delighted  praise  to  Him; 

The  giver  of  the  feast. 

Not  on  the  outer  world 

For  inward  joy  depend; 
Enjoy  the  luxury  of  thought, 

Make  thine  own  self  thy  friend. 
Not  with  the  restless  throng 

In  search  of  solace  roam; 
But  with  an  independent  zeal 

Be  intimate  at  home. 

Good  company  have  they 
Who  by  themselves  do  walk 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  191 

If  they  have  learned  of  blessed  themes 

With  their  own  souls  to  talk, 
For  they  shall  never  feel 

Of  dull  ennui  the  power; 
Not  penury  of  lowliness 

Shall  haunt  their  hall  or  bower. 

Drink  water  from  the  fount 

That  in  thy  bosom  springs, 
And  envy  not  the  mingled  draught 

Of  satraps  or  of  kings. 
So  shalt  thou  find  at  last 

Far  from  the  giddy  brain, 
Self  knowledge  and  self  culture  lead 

To  incomputed  gain. 

— Mrs.  Sigourney. 

I  well  remember  the  feelings  I  had  when  my  father 
sold  his  interest  in  that  island,  which  if  he  had  kept, 
would  have  been  worth  thousands.  I  often  sigh  for 
those  by-gone  days.  After  thirty  years  I  visited  that 
island.  O,  what  a  change.  I  went  inquiring  after 
those  little  fisher  girls,  but  not  one  could  I  find. 

At  the  close  of  my  rambles,  I  returned  to  the  hotel 
and  laid  down  to  rest.  A  thought  came  over  me  that 
the  landlady  looked  very  familiar.  Half  asleep  I 
arose  and  inquired,  and  a  few  moments  later  we  were 
in  each  others'  arms.  She  was  one  of  those  little 
fisher  girls.  She  had  a  fine  home.  They  kept  a 
large  hotel.  It  was  a  lovely  resort.  People  from 


192  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

New  York  and  Boston,  and  several  from  the  west, 
were  stopping  there  at  that  time.  That  fisher  girl 
made  a  noble  hostess.  She  devoted  several  hours 
every  day  to  her  guests.  She  knew  how  to  fill  her 
position,  and  she  knew  how  well  I  loved  flowers  when 
we  roamed  over  the  island  together.  How  far  we 
would  go  to  pick  a  posy,  as  we  would  call  our  bou 
quets.  She  seemed  to  take  delight  in  dressing  my 
room  in  garlands  of  flowers,  and  she  would  say, 
"Why  not  have  some  elegance,  even  in  the  humblest 
home.  I  know  you  remember  me  as  one  of  those 
littie  fisher  girls,  but  you  could  not  say  one  of  those 
dirty  ones." 

Good  manners  consist  in  courteousness  and  kind 
ness.  Politeness  has  been  described  as  the  art  of 
showing  by  external  signs  the  interior  regard  we  have 
for  others.  It  has  been  well  said  that  a  beautiful  form 
is  more  beautiful  than  a  beautiful  face,  and  a  beautiful 
behavior  is  better  than  a  beautiful  form.  It  gives  a 
higher  pleasure  than  statues  or  pictures.  It  is  the 
finest  of  the  fine  arts.  The  truest  politeness  comes  of 
sincerity.  It  must  be  the  out-come  of  the  heart,  or  it 
will  not  make  a  lasting  impression.  For  no  amount 
of  polish  can  dispense  with  truthfulness.  The  natural 
character  must  be  allowed  to  appear.  True  polite 
ness  especially  exhibits  itself  in  regard  for  the  per 
sonality  of  others,  if  he  wishes  to  be  respected  himself. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  193 

Good  taste  is  a  true  economist.  It  may  be  practical 
on  small  means,  and  sweeten  the  lot  of  labor  as  well 
as  of  ease.  It  is  all  the  more  enjoyed  when  associated 
with  industry  and  the  performance  of  duty.  Even 
the  lot  of  poverty  is  elevated  by  taste.  It  exhibits  it 
self  in  the  economics  of  the  household.  It  gives 
brightness  and  grace  to  the  humblest  dwelling.  It 
produces  refinement.  It  engenders  good  will,  and 
creates  an  atmosphere  of  cheerfulness.  Thus  good 
taste,  associated  with  kindness,  sympathy  and  intelli 
gence,  may  elevate  and  adorn  even  the  humblest  lot. 

Thirty  years  had  made  a  great  change  in  that  is 
land.  Where  we  used  to  play  in  the  valley,  were 
beautiful  buildings.  The  work  of  art  had  taken  the 
place  of  nature.  Where  the  fishermen's  flakes  stood, 
where  they  dried  their  fish  for  market,  stood  a  large 
shipyard.  Where  smokehouses  stood  in  which  they 
smoked  their  herring,  that  they  brought  from  the 
Magdalen  Islands,  were  large  stores  and  storehouses. 
Instead  of  sailboats  to  carry  you  to  the  island,  a  beau 
tiful  steamer  plied  three  times  each  day.  That  was 
equal  to  living  on  the  main  land.  It  is  also  a  great  re 
sort  for  fishing.  Beautiful  fish  are  caught  all  around 
those  islands. 

The  old  settlers  that  first  inhabited  those  islands  had 
a  legend  that  they  have  told  to  me.  They  said,  once 
upon  a  time  those  islands  were  called  Fox  Islands. 


194  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Why  that  name,  the  island  was  infested  with  foxes. 
There  are  a  great  many  dens  in  the  mountains  that 
would  be  a  fine  retreat  for  them.  They  could  not 
keep  small  stock  or  poultry,  as  the  foxes  were  sure  to 
have  the  first  meal  out  of  all  their  substance.  The 
island  was  so  situated  that  they  could  not  have  any  re 
venge.  The  sly  fox  was  perfectly  contented,  he  knew 
he  was  safe.  They  said  there  came  a  very  cold  win 
ter,  that  froze  the  bay  over  so  strong  that  the  foxes 
left  the  island  and  never  one  has  been  seen  there 
since.  Several  have  told  me  the  tracks  in  the  snow 
were  like  large  flocks  of  sheep,  where  they  went  down 
onto  the  ice.  It  was  ten  miles  from  one  point  to  the 
other  on  the  main  land.  I  thought  the  foxes  knew 
they  were  surrounded  by  water,  and  left. 

I  went  back  again  in  memory  to  the  time  we  played 
on  the  top  of  those  mountains.  We  would  sit  and 
watch  the  gliding  sun  as  it  sank  in  the  west.  There 
were  several  small  islands,  some  large  enough  for 
small  farms,  that  the  fishermen  occupied,  and  others 
would  be  tiny  islands,  that  the  sea  would  almost 
wash  over.  Now  they  have  thrown  in  rock  from  the 
quarries,  and  made  bridges  to  most  of  those  islands. 

I  went  to  that  island  to  recuperate  my  health,  which 
had  failed  under  a  strain  of  great  care.  I  was  through 
with  that  care,  but  very  lonely,  as  my  sons  had  gone 
out  to  begin  the  battle  of  life.  I  could  not  follow 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  195 

them.  I  knew  I  must  stay  and  attend  to  what  little 
interest  I  had.  I  must  fight  my  battles  alone,  and 
would  sit  and  think  of  the  mountains  of  sin  that  they 
would  have  to  pass  through,  with  no  mother's  hand  to 
guide  and  advise  them. 

My  heart  would  be  full  of  emotion  when  it  awoke 
to  the  pulse  of  the  past.  I  would  sit  on  those  lone 
rocks  by  the  ocean,  and  think  how  my  little  ones 
would  gather  around  me  to  bid  me  good  night  and  be 
kissed.  It  seemed  but  a  day  since  I  could  put  them 
in  their  little  beds .  But  time  had  passed,  they  had 
grown  to  manhood,  and  were  through  with  their 
trades,  and  were  back  again  in  the  wild  west.  When 
I  stopped  to  think  about  them,  Oh,  my  heart  was  a 
dungeon  of  darkness.  Oh,  mothers,  you  must  remem 
ber  when  you  can  have  that  good  night  kiss  with 
those  little  ones  around  you,  and  see  your  darlings  in 
their  little  beds;  then  you  are  happy. 

I  never  realized  what  it  was  to  be  alone.  When  I 
lost  my  husband,  then  I  had  my  children  But  when 
they  went,  one  by  one,  till  the  last  had  flown,  then  I 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  alone,  with  poor  health,  and  I 
almost  gave  way  in  despair.  Then  I  would  think 
how  unthankful  I  was.  God  had  been  with  me  in  my 
days  of  trial,  and  I  knew  he  would  be  the  same  in  my 
lonely  hours.  It  was  doubly  unpleasant.  I  was  pass 
ing  over  ground  every  day  that  I  had  passed  over  by 


196  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

my  father's  side.  Where  are  they  now?  All  gone, 
not  even  one  that  I  could  call  my  own  dear  friend. 
Father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  all  gone.  That 
cruel  war  had  broken  up  our  family.  If  there  was 
one  alive  I  knew  it  not.  Neither  could  I  hear  any 
tidings  from  them.  It  was  a  great  mystery  that 
could  not  be  solved.  I  knew  that  I  should  leave  that 
island  in  the  autumn  to  cross  the  threshold  no  more. 
And  how  I  shall  sigh  for  my  dear  ones  that  will  meet 
me  no  more  at  the  door;  and  I  would  sit  and  watch 
the  waves, 

Out  on  the  ocean's  level  plain, 
It  lifts  and  swells  to  the  shore  again; 
Sometimes  they'll  break  almost  to  the  sky, 
Then  they'll  roll  on  the  rocks  so  high. 

To  see  those  blue  waters,  so  bleak  and  cold, 
And  all  of  creation  its  power  can't  control; 
How  great  is  that   Father,  and  writh   what    com 
mand 

He  dotteth  the  ocean  with  dry  land; 
And  the  bounds  of  the  sea  He  holds  in  His  hand. 

I  would  often  go  down  to  see  the  sun  rise 
Out  of  the  ocean's  silver  bed 
It  lifts  the  crest  of  a  golden  head. 
Its  yellow  locks  are  spread  and  curled 
Over  the  shoulders  of  the  world. 

After  a  storm  I  would  go  down  to  the  clefts  where 
I  used  to  sit  in  childhood's  days.     The  cool  sea  breeze 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  197 

would  fan  my  brow,  and  murmuring  waves  held  me 
with  a  strong  fascination.  There  was  a  plaintive,  rol 
ling,  rumbling  sound  in  the  pebbles,  which  accorded 
with  thoughts  of  by-gone  days.  The  music  of  the  peb 
bles  on  the  low  shelving  rocks  was  alluring.  It  was 
pitched  in  a  minor  key  that  found  a  mournful  echo  in 
my  heart.  The  eternal  surge  of  time  and  tide  rolls  on, 
bearing  afar  our  bubbles.  Let  us  prize  all  the  light 
from  God  and  man,  so  that  we  may  be  guided  aright. 

When  life's  deep  stream  'mid  beds  of  flowers 

All  still  and  safely  glides, 
Like  the  wavelets  step,  with  a  gentle  beat, 

It  warns  of  passing  tides. 

The  sunny  days  of  summer  had  passed  away,  and 
the  old  blue  Atlantic  was  losing  its  charms.  It  had 
fascinated  many  through  the  warm  summer  months. 
In  the  morning  it  would  be  very  chillv,  and  we  would 
need  our  wraps;  then  again,  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
it  would  be  delightful. 

I.  knew  I  must  soon  leave  this  grand  scenery,  with 
its  beautiful  islands,  mountains,  coasts,  and  strand;  the 
home  of  my  childhood,  my  own  native  land.  I  must 
face  once  more  the  realities  of  life,  for  I  was  not  rich 
enough  to  enjoy  the  splendor  of  ease,  neither  did  I 
wish  to  be.  Life  had  too  far  advanced.  I  had  rather 
lay  up  my  treasures' where  moth  and  rust  do  not  cor 
rupt.  I  knew  at  my  age  that  would  be  far  better, 


198  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

and  as  I  would  have  to  spend  the  most  of  my  time 
alone,  I  would  have  that  holy  spirit  to  trust  as  I  ever 
had  done.  If  we  can  only  hold  that  childlike  faith,  it 
will  buoy  us  up  above  those  few  afflictions  we  have 
to  pass  through. 

One  morning  in  October  I  arose,  and  bid  every 
thing  adieu  for  the  last  time.  I  well  knew  I  should 
never  return  to  these  dear  scenes  again,  and  I  bid  the 
dear  old  blue  Atlantic  goodbye  forever.  I  was 
almost  cradled  on  its  bosom,  and  I  loved  its  bounding 
tide. 

I  took  a  boat   for  Boston,   for  in  those  davs  trains 

J 

were  few  and  did  not  make  good  connections.  In 
Boston  I  took  a  west  bound  train,  and  in  three  days 
was  set  down  at  my  own  door.  Home  again.  It 
was  not  a  grand  home,  but  it  was  home.  "  Be  it 
ever  so  humble,  there  is  no  place  like  home."  I  had 
not  been  in  that  home  for  several  vears. 

J 

When  we  left  it,  my  sons  were  young,  and  full  of 
boyish  sports.  I  had  no  time  to  be  lonesome. 

Whenever  we  step  out  of  domestic  life  in  search  of 
felicity,  we  come  back  again  disappointed,  tired  and 
chagrined.  One  day  passed  under  our  own  roof, 
with  our  family  and  friends,  is  worth  a  thousand  in 
another  place;  but  home  alone  is  not  pleasant. 

While  from  home  I  had  left  my  business  in  care  of 
D.  L.  Libbey,  one  of  the  noblest  and  wealthiest  men 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  199 

of  Oshkosh.  My  tongue  is  not  eloquent  enough  to 
speak  what  my  heart  feels  in  regard  to  a  true  friend. 
After  my  husband's  death  I  had  no  one  to  advise  me. 
He  came  to  my  rescue;  he  advised  my  sons,  told  me 
where  to  go  to  get  positions  for  them,  and  helped  me 
financially  to  start,  and  for  twenty-five  years  has  looked 
after  my  interests.  I  will  ever  remember  him  and  his 
in  my  prayers.  • 

Oshkosh  is  a  fine  little  citv.     It  is  situated  between 

tt 

LakeButte  des  Nottes  and  LakeWinnebago,on  the  Fox 
river.  It  is  a  busy  little  city  of  twenty-five  thousand. 
The.  population  was  only  twenty-five  hundred  in  '63, 
the  year  that  I  came  to  that  place. 

It  will  ever  seem  like  home  to  me.  I  have  passed 
over  twenty  years  in  that  place.  I  can  say  that  the 
most  of  my  trouble  that  I  have  had  in  my  life  has  been 
in  that  city.-  Sometimes  I  think  trouble  endears  us  to 
the  spot  where  it  comes  upon  us.  It  teaches  us  that 
this  world  is  not  our  abiding  place;  that  we  must  seek 
that  city  whose  builder  and  maker  is  God.  Oshkosh 
would  be  my  home  the  remainder  of  my  life,  if  it 
were  not  for  remaining  with  my  children  in  my  old 
age,  and  their  interests  are  not  in  that  city. 

I  was  once  very  much  endeared  to  the  Methodist 
church  of  that  place.  That  little  church  on  Church 
street  really  seemed  like  home  to  me.  There  was 
more  religion  and  less  popularity.  They  were  loved 


2oo  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

of  God  instead  of  men.  I  remember  one  year  we 
had  a  series  of  meetings  that  continued  six- weeks, 
five  days  in  a  week,  and  I  never  lost  but  one  day  in 
that  time  that  I  did  not  go.  Those  meetings  served 
to  draw  people  together  to  love  and  serve  God. 

The  Church  ought  to  be  the  leader,  the  inspirer  of 
the  age.  It  is  folly  for  us  to  be  discussing  old  issues, 
when  all*aboutus  are  iniquities  to  be  slain.  Some  will 
ask  why  not  do  away  with  the  churches,  if  its  mem 
bers  make  so  many  mistakes?  Would  you  take  away 
the  light-house  because  careless  mariners,  through 
wrong  observations,  run  their  ships  high  and  dry  up 
on  the  shore?  It  is  the  privilege  of  us,  my  dear  read 
ers,  to  live  more  in  the  future  than  we  do  in  the  pres 
ent.  John  Wesley  is  a  thousand-fold  greater  to-day 
than  he  wras  when  he  was  living.  He  lives  in  the 
lives  of  his  followers. 

God  has  not  changed.  The  same  stars  that  looked 
down  upon  the  Chaldean  shepherds,  look  upon  us  at 
this  age,  and  they  still  look  and  point  us  to  the  manger 
where  our  dear  Saviour  lay. 

How  often,  on  those  beautiful,  starlight  nights, 
when  I  have  been  sitting  on  the  quarter  deck  of  the 
ship,  have  I  mused  on  the  stars,  and  when  I  would  see 
a  beautiful  star,  in  my  mind  I  would  ask,  is  not  that 
the  star  by  which  the  ships  of  Tarshish  were  guided 
across  the  Mediterranaen.  when  the  Venitian  flotilla 


LIFE  SKKTCHES  AND  POEMS.  201 

found  its  way  into  Lepanto?  Their  armor  shone  as 
bright- that  night  as  in  those  by- gone  days.  They 
have  not  changed,  but  they  shall  not  shine  forever. 
The  Bible  tells  us  they  shall  fall  like  autumn  leaves. 

I  think  it  is  beautiful  to  hold  communion  with  your 
self  and  your  little  guide  that  is  trying  to  inspire  your 
soul.  You  may  call  it  conscience.  I  call  it  that  spirit 
that  Christ  promised  to  us  that  would  lead  us  into 
truth  if  we  would  be  admonished  by  it.  We  have  on 
ly  got  to  hear  and  obey  its  soft,  sweet  voice,  and  we 
shall  never  do  wrong.  We  shall  not  have  to  look 
over  our  shoulder  to  see  if  an  officer  of  the  law  is  on 
track.  When  we  lie  down  at  night,  our  sleep  is 
sweet,  and  when  we  are  called  to  pass  by  the  haunts 
of  vice,  if  we  hear  to  that  still,  small  voice,  it  will  tell 
you  the  lower  nature  must  be  denied.  If  you  hear  to 
that  small  voice  it  shows  you  are  trying  to  reach  a 
higher  sphere.  It  is  not  necessary  to  be  self-denying 
to  be  a  Christian.  It  only  gives  us  a  distinction  above 
the  brute;  it  makes  us  honest  and  cheerful,  ever 
ready  to  do  good.  I  believe  heaven  to  be  the  place 
of  victory;  this  is  the  battlefield.  You  will  see  there 
that  triumphant  procession  which  has  conquered  those 
bad  habits  while  in  the  flesh.  They  will  get  a  rich 
reward  for  every  victory. 

Idleness  is  not  rest.  We  want  to  fight  and  conquer 
sin  as  much  as  our  means  will  admit.  It  is  a  work 


2O2  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

that  is  unceasing  and  not  all  easy,  any  more  than  it  is 
to  get  weeds  out  of  our  flower  gardens.  They  are 
continually  coming  up.  We  must  dig  down  deep  and 
get  the  root,  then  we  are  all  right.  We  shall  not  al 
ways  have  to  dig.  If  we  keep  those  roots  out  it  will 
soon  be  said,  "Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  serv 
ant,  enter  thou  into  the  joys  of  thy  Lord."  We  ought 
not  to  look  upon  death  as  we  do;  Christ  is  the  master 
of  the  grave.  Just  outside  of  the  city  of  Nain,  Christ 
overcame  death.  When  he  told  the  young  man  to 
arise,  then  death  dropped.  How  that  mother  must 
have  loved  her  Lord.  She  never  expected  to  hear 
her  son  speak  again,  neither  did  she  ever  think  she 
would  receive  a  kiss  from  his  lips.  How  the  tears 
started.  How  hef  heart  throbbed  as  she  pressed  him 
in  her  arms,  saying,  "My  son,  Oh,  my  son!" 

What  would  we  think  if  we  had  that  privilege  ? 
And  I  think  we  have  the  same  if  we  will  heed  that 
still,  small  voice.  What  was  it  that  led  Columbus,  not 
knowing  what  would  be  his  fate,  across  the  unsailed 
western  seas,  if  it  was  not  the  hope  of  finding  a  better 
country?  That  same  faith  sustained  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  driven  from  their  native  land  by  persecution, 
as  they  faced  the  rock-bound,  savage  coast  and  an  un 
explored  territory.  They  were  cheered  and  upheld 
by  the  hope  of  reaching  a  free  and  fruitful  country, 
where  they  could  be  at  rest  and  worship  God  in  peace. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  203 

God  had  taught  them  to  come  by  intuition  and  they 
entered  on  a  greater  task  than  Gideon,  when  he  par 
alyzed  his  enemies..  They  had  a  great  work  to  do. 
The  roll  is  being  called,  and  one  after  another  is  sum 
moned  away.  It  matters  not,  if  they  are  ready.  We 
know  we  shall  see  them  bye  and  bye.  We  shall  see 
them  in  the  morn,  when  the  night  has  worn  away. 

During  the  late  war,  a  young  man  lay  on  a  cot,  and 
they  heard  him  say,  "  Here,  here,"  and  some  one 
went  to  his  cot  to  know  what  he  wanted,  when  he 
said,  "Hark,  hush,  don't  you  hear  them?"  "Hear 
who?"  was  asked.  "They  are  calling  the  roll  in 
heaven,"  and  pretty  soon  he  answered,  "  Here,"  and 
he  was  gone.  Oh,  what  a  change  for  that  young  man. 
He  had  laid  down  his  gun  and  knapsack.  Nothing 
could  match  that  change.  How  beautiful  it  must  have 
been  to  him,  after  toiling  in  the  warm  southern  sun, 
to  hear  that  roll  called  to  come  up  higher  and  change 
the  uniform  for  a  robe  of  splendor  that  would  dazzle 
the  sun. 


There  is  no  Death. 

There  is  no  death.     The  stars  go  down 
To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore, 

And  bright  in  heaven's  jeweled  crown 
They  shine  for  evermore. 


204  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

There  is  no  death.     The  dust  we  tread 
Shall  change  beneath  the  summer  showers 

To  golden  grain  or  mellow  fruit, 
Or  rainbow-tinted  flower. 

The  granites  disorganize 

To  feed  the  hungry  they  bear; 

The  forest  leaves  drink  daily  life 
From  out  the  viewless  air. 

There  is  no  death.     The  leaves  may  fall, 
The  flowers  may  fade  and  pass  away; 

They  only  wait  through  wintry  hours, 
The  coming  of  the  May. 

There  is  no  death.     An  angel  form 

Walks  o'er  the  earth  with  silent  tread; 
He  bears  our  best  loved  things  away, 

And  then  we  call  them  dead. 
He  leaves  our  hearts  all  desolate; 

He  plucks  our  fairest,  sweetest  flowers; 
Transplanted  into  bliss  they  now 

Adorn  immortal  bowers. 
The  bird-like  voice,  with  joyous  tones, 

Made  glad  these  scenes  of  sin  and  strife; 
Sings  now  an  everlasting  song 

Amid  the  tree  of  life. 
And  where  he  sees  a  smile  too  bright, 

Or  hearts  too  pure  for  vice, 
He  bears  it  to  that  world  of  light, 

To  dwell  in  Paradise. 
Born  unto  that  undying  life, 

They  leave  us  but  to  come  again; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  205 

With  joy  we  welcome  them,  the  same 

Except  in  sin  and  pain. 
And  ever  near  us,  though  unseen, 

The  dear  immortal  spirits  tread; 
For  all  the  boundless  universe 

Is  life — there  is  no  dead. 

— Bulwer  Lytton. 

According  to  the  Scriptures,  we  shall   have   a  per- 

% 

feet  body  of  beauty,  and  enjoy  a  perpetual  youth. 
Why  are  we  so  loath  to  leave  this  house  of  clay 
when  we  know  we  have  a  home  awaiting  us  above 
the  stormy  sky?  We  look  around;  the  world  is  full 
of  suffering;  we  are  distressed  by  its  sorrow  and  vexed 
by  its  sins.  In  the  language  of  a  heart  repelled, 
grieved  and  vexed,  we  often  turn  our  eyes  upward, 
saying.  "I  would  not  live  alway."  No,  not  for  all  the 
gold  of  the  world's  mines.  There  is  no  beauty  like 
that  of  a  pure  character.  The  grandest  sight  on 
earth  is  not  the  march  of  the  all-conquering  storm, 
whose  cloudy  battalions  go  marching  through  the 
sounding  heavens.  The  beauty  of  the  soul  is  far 
above  any  earthly  grandeur.  When  it  lies  in  its  secret 
chambers,  rich  and  deep,  with  its  holy,  loving  nature, 
no  earthly  thing  can  compare  with  that. 
That  spirit  will  protect  us, 

Do\vn  from  heaven  it  came, 
And  it  still  will  point  us  upward 

Until  we  reach  the  same. 


206  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Government  of  Children. 

There  were  many  ideas  entertained  by  the  Puritan 
settlers  of  New  England,  that  happily,  were  not  be 
queathed  to  those  who  came  after  them.  But  in  fix 
ing  proper  relations  it  would  have  been  better  to  have 
preserved  some  of  the  inflexibility  of  discipline  that 
distinguished  them.  The  youth  of  the  present  age 
have  their  own  way  too  much.  No  obedience  or  re 
spect  is  exacted  from  them  by  father  or  mother  in 
many  instances.  They  grow  up  selfish  and  over 
bearing.  If  they  are  permitted  to  have  their  own 
way  they  will  soon  be  full  of  petty  tyranny.  Children 
need  checks,  direction  and  good  influences.  A  well 
governed  child  is,  in  the  great  majority,  sure  to  grow 
into  a  respectable  man  or  woman,  but  the  noblest 
nature  may  be  blighted  unless  the  weeds  of  untrained 
propensity  are  kept  down.  Many  observers  recom 
mend  a  wise  neglect.  Not  too  much  inquiry,  but  a 
judicious  surrounding  of  the  best  influence.  Then  let 
your  young  plants  grow  up.  Yes,  but  it  should  be  a 
very  wise  neglect;  a  neglect  which  is  always  on  the 
watch  lest  some  insidious  parasite,  some  unnoticed 
but  strong  bias  of  character,  take  possession  of  the 
child  and  ruin  him.  I  think  firm  kindness  will  do  a 
great  deal  for  our  children.  I  know  that  no  two  fam 
ilies  are  constituted  alike,  not  even  two  in  one  family. 
You  may  not  win  your  child  over  at  the  present 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  207 

time,  but  try  again.  Let  one  kindness  be  followed 
by  another  till  you  have  compassed  your  end.  By 
little  and  by  little  great  things  are  completed.  Water 
falling  day  by  day  wears  the  hardest  rock  away,  and 
so  repeated  kindness  will  soften  a  heart  of  stone.  A 
boy  that  is  whipped  at  school  never  learns  his  lesson 
well.  We  must  be  patient.  Let  one  of  our  loved 
ones  be  taken  away,  and  memory  recalls  a  thousand 
sayings  to  regret. 

A  boy  is  a  boy,  and  a  boy  let  him  be, ' 

For  the  life  of  boyhood  is  a  span, 
And  the  heart  that  now  leaps  with  its  joy  and  its 

glee, 
Must  ache  with  the  cares  of  a  man. 

Our  example  goes  far;  let  us  throw  away  strife  as 
we  travel  along  toward  our  home.  If  we  set  the 
right  example  while  here  in  this  life  our  children  will 
not  far  from  it  roam. 


Love's  Fidelity. 

The  hand  of  Time,  beloved  one, 

Hath  pressed  upon  thy  brow, 
And  one  by  one  thy  beauties 

Fast  fading  from  thee  now; 
Yet  love's  own  treasure,  pure  and  grand, 

Are  still  within  thy  heart ; 
These  precious  jewels,  hope  and  faith, 

Time  cannot  make  depart. 


208  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Thy  voice,  which  around  me  cast 

A  deep,  mysterious  spell, 
As  its  pure  tones  upon  my  soul 

In  silver  accents  fell, 
Hath  now,  alas,  grown  faint  and  low. 

Yet,  still  to  me  it  seems 
As  if  it  were  the  counterpart 

Of  some  I  have  heard  in  dreams. 

Oh,  what  cares  love  for  signs  of  age. 

It  brings  me  no  regret; 
Those  that  I  loved  in  early  days, 

I  love  them  dearer  yet. 
And  though  the  friend  we  love  mav  change, 

Grow  callous,  harsh  and  cold, 
Yet  love,  pure  love,  will  keep  the  heart 

From  ever  growing  old. 
And  my  fond  soul  prays  but  for  this, 

That  when  we  fade  and  die, 
That  angels  may  attend  our  path, 

Triumphant  to  the  sky. 


Tides  of  Eternity. 

A  gentleman  wandering  on  the  beach  of  Scotland, 
where  the  high  rocks  came  near  the  sea,  was  unmind 
ful  of  the  fact  that  the  tide  was  coming  that  would 
cut  off  his  retreat.  A  man  on  the  top  of  the  rocks 
shouted.  "Hello,  the  tide  is  rising;  this  is  the  last  place 
through  which  you  can  make  your  escape.  You  had 
better  climb  up  on  to  the  rocks."  The  man  laughed 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  209 

at  the  warning,  and  went  on.  After  a  while  he  thought 
it  was  time  to  return.  He  came  back  and  found  his 
retreat  cut  off.  Me  tried  to  scale  the  rocks.  He 
clambered  half-way  up,  but  could  get  no  further. 
The  water  came  to  his  feet,  came  to  his  waist,  came 
to  his  chin,  and  with  a  wild  shriek  for  help,  he  per 
ished. 

My  dear  friends,  the  tide  of  eternity  is  rising;  we 
must  try  and  get  on  to  that  rock  of  ages.  Then  the 
storms  may  beat,  we  shall  be  safe. 

There  is  only  one  door  into  heaven.  That  door  is 
faith,  but  we  must  remember  that  faith  without  works 
is  dead. 

The  Bible  is  a  warm  letter  of  affection  from  a  pa 
rent  to  a  child,  yet  there  are  many  who  see  chiefly  the 
severer  passages,  as  there  may  be  fifty  or  sixty  nights 
of  gentle  dew  in  one  summer,  that  will  not  cause  so 
many  remarks  as  one  hail  storm. 

John  savs  in  the  book  of  Revelations.  "God  is  a 
lion,"  but  the  who'e  Bible  declares  God  to  be  a  God 
of  love.  He  sent  His  son  to  die  for  us.  and  "No  man 
hath  greater  love  than  to  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friend."  Enoch  was  a  friend  of  God,  and  God  said  to 
him,  "-Come  up  here  and  walk  with  me."  It  is  sweet 
to  walk  with  God.  Enoch  found  the  right  way  back 
there  in  that  dim  age.  We  can  walk  with  Him 
through  His  holy  spirit,  and  know  He  is  a  true  friend. 


210  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

That  evil  spirit  that  inhabits  our  mortal  body  tells  us 
that  God  is  not  love.  It  will  say,  "Why does  he  pun 
ish  us  if  he  loves  us."  He  is  a  God  of  love,  that  is 
\\liv  he  will  not  suffer  wickedness  in  us.  And  if  it  is 
needful  to  purge  wickedness  out  from  us  by  exquisite 
pains.  He  will  employ  the  pains  to  purge  it  out,  that 
He  may  wash  all  our  dross,  that  we  may  be  with  Him. 

We  are  so  apt  to  forget  Him  when  we  think  there 
is  no  danger  around  us;  but  let  the  heavens  become 
black  with  threatening  clouds,  and  we  see  a  cyclone. 
We  are  sure  it  is  approaching.  The  thunder  will 
peal  and  lightning  flash;  what  a  dread  comes  over  us. 
Then  we  will  look  to  our  God.  and  think  we  will  do 
better.  But  the  clouds  pass  away,  the  storm  is  gone, 
and  the  light  floods  the  landscape.  Then  how  soon 
we  forget.  But  God's  tender  nature  is  upon  us  the 
same  as  in  the  storm.  If  we  can  really  make  a  person 
believe  that  we  love  them,  we  have  won  them.  Many 
have  a  false  idea  about  God.  It  is  because  they  have 
no  faith  in  His  love.  Whatever  conception  you  have, 
be  it  right  or  wrong,  do  not  let  it  be  forgotten  that 
God  is  love,  unchangeable,  everlasting. 

The  flowers  that  spangle  the  meadows,  as  well  as 
the  stars  that  spangle  the  sky;  the  lamp  of  the  glow 
worm,  as  well  as  the  light  of  the  sun;  the  lark  that 
sings  in  the  air,  and  the  still,  small  voice  of  conscience, 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  211 

all  reveal  God's  attributes,  and  proclaim  Him  to   be   a 
God  of  love. 

Love  us,  dear  Lord,  mid  pleasure  and  woe, 

For  heaven  our  spirits  prepare; 
May  we  love  each  other  while  here  below, 
That  we  may  dwell  in  love  over  there. 


Practical    Wisdom. 

•> 

Practical  wisdom  is  only  lo  be  learned  in  the  school 
of  experience.  Precepts  and  instructions  are  useful  as 
far  as  they  go,  but  without  the  discipline  of  real  life, 
they  remain  the  nature  of  theory  onlv.  The  hard 
facts  of  existence  have  to  be  faced  to  give  that  touch 
of  truth  to  character  which  never  can  be  imparted  In- 
reading  or  by  tuition;  only  by  contact  with  the  broad 
interest  of  common  men  and  women  can  any  one  who 
would,  profit  by  experience:  will  never  be  above  ask 
ing  help.  He  who  thinks  himself  already  too  wise  to 
learn  of  others,  will  never  succeed  in  doing  anything 
good  or  great. 

The  whole  of  my  life  to  me  may  be  regarded  as  a 
great  school  of  experience.  To  me,  many  of  my  les 
sons  were  taken  on  trust.  Many  was  the  time  that  I 
could  not  understand  them,  and  would  think  it  very 
hard  that  I  had  to  learn  them,  especially  when  the 
teachers  were  trials,  sorrpws,  temptations  and  difricul- 


212  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

ties;  and  yet,  we  must  not  only  accept  these  lessons, 
but  recognize  them  as  being  divinely  appointed.  The 
results  of  experience  are  only  to  be  achieved  by  living, 
and  living  is  a  question  of  time. 

To  the  young,  how  bright  the  new  world  looks. 
How  full  of  novelty,  of  enjoyment,  and  pleasure. 
But  as  years  pass,  we  rind  the  beautiful  world  a  place 
of  sorrow  as  well  as  joy.  As  we  proceed  through 
life,  many  dark  vistas  appear  to  us,  of  toil  and  suffer 
ing,  and  difficulty,  perhaps  misfortune  and  failure. 
Happv  are  they  who  can  pass  through,  amidst  such 
trials,  with  a  firm  mind  and  a  pure  heart,  encountering 
trials  with  cheerfulness  and  standing  erect,  even  under 
the  heaviest  burden. 

I  know,  in  sickness  and  sorrow,  none  are  braver 
and  less  complaining  sufferers  than  women.  Their 
courage,  when  their  hearts  are  concerned,  is  indeed 
proverbial.  Experience  has  proved  that  women  can 
be  as  enduring  as  men,  under  the  heaviest  trials  and 
calamities. 

But  too  little  pains  are  taken  to  teach  them  to  en 
dure  petty  terrors  and  frivolous  vexations  with  forti 
tude.  Such  little  miseries,  if  petted  and  indulged, 
quickly  runs  into  sickly  sensibility,  and  become  the 
bane  of  their  life,  keeping  themselves  and  those  around 
them  in  a  state  of  chronic  discomfort.  Women  have 
not  only  distinguished  themselves  for  their  passive 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  213 

courage,  but  impelled  by  their  affection    or    the    sense 
of  duty,  they  have  become  heroic. 

The  home  is  the  woman's  kingdom,  her  state,  her 
world,  where  she  governs  by  affection,  by  kindness, 
and  by  the  power  of  gentleness.  There  is  nothing 
that  so  settles  the  turbulence  of  a  man's  nature  as  his 
union  in  life  with  a  high-minded  woman.  There  he 
rinds  rest,  contentment  and  happiness,  rest  of  brain 
and  peace  of  spirit.  He  will  also  find  in  her  his  best 
counsellor,  for  her  instinctive  tact  will  usually  lead  him 
right:  he  will  not  be  apt  to  go  wrong.  The  true  wife 
is  a  staff  to  lean  upon  in  time  of  difficulty,  and  she  is 
never  wanting  in  sympathy  and  solace  when  distress 
occurs  or  misfortune  frowns,  and  in  the  time  of  her 
youth  she  is  a  comfort  and  an  ornament  of  many  lives 
and  she  remains  a  faithful  helpmate  in  maturer  years, 
when  life  has  ceased  to  be  in  anticipation  and  we  live 
in  its  realities.  The  greatest  blessing  that  God  can 
confer  on  man  is  the  possession  of  a  good  and  pious 
wife,  with  whom  he  may  live  in  peace  and  tranquility: 
to  whom  he  may  confide  his  whole  possession,  even 
his  life  and  welfare.  I  do  not  think  a  woman's  best 
qualities  reside  in  her  intellect,  but  in  her  affections. 
She  gives  refreshment  by  her  sympathies,  rather  than 
by  her  knowledge.  If  the  husband  has  provided  a 
home,  the  xyife's  duty  is  to  beautify  that  home  as 
much  as  it  lavs  in  her  power  to  do.  She  should  culti- 


214  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

vate  taste  and  refinement,  and  she  should  be  pleasing 
to  his  eye  and  taste. 

As  I  write  these  pages  my  mind  has  passed  back  to 
one  of  those  unhappy  homes  within  my  knowledge. 
The  young  gentleman  was  of 'good  parentage,  and 
had  a  small  fortune.  He  married  the  lady  of  his 
choice  and  for  a  few  months  was  happy.  His  business 
would  often  take  him  away  from  home.  His  wife 
loved  society  and  would  often,  in  her  husband's  ab 
sence,  give  large  parties.  She  had  too  much  to  think 
about.  Her  heart  grew  cold  toward  her  husband. 
She  took  a  life  of  excitement,  instead  of  a  life  of  re 
pose,  bv  his  side. 

Her  husband  saw  the  change;  he  tried  to  soften 
her  affections  toward  him.  He  even  took  her  across 
the  sea  to  the  old  world.  He  took  that  voyage  to  re 
lease  her  from  societv,  for  she  was  its  slave,  and  she 
was  charmed  by  the  old  world,  as  she  had  been  by 
her  spangled  friends.  When  she  returned  home  she 
was  more  anxious  than  ever  to  meet  her  gaudy  friends. 
When  he  saw  the  result  he  was  a  heart-broken  and 
down-cast  man. 

About  that  time  his  mother  came  to  their  rescue. 
She  said  the  wife  was  flighty  and  son  sensitive.  She 
told  him  he  was  disappointed  in  his  marriage  because 
he  had  expected  too  much  from  his  wife;  that  he  must 
not  lose  his  cheerfulness,  kindness,  forbearance  and 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  215 

common  sense.  She  told  him  his  imagination  had 
perhaps  pictured  a  model  never  to  be  seen  this  side  of 
heaven,  and  when  the  real  life  came  with  its  troubles 
and  cares,  there  was  a  sudden  waking,  as  from  a 
dream,  or  they  may  lo,ok  on  boih  sides  for  something 
approaching  perfection  in  each  other,  and  they  discov 
er  by  experience  that  the  fairest  character  has  its 
weakness.  The  golden  rule  of  life  is  to  bear  and  for- 

C5 

bear. 

That  mother  taught  them  both  a  lesson  that  turned 

the  tide  in  their  life,  and  they  became  very  happy.      I 

should    advise    young  wives  never  to  let  society  get 

between  them  and  their  husbands. 

The  fairest  home,  it  is  not  placed 
In  scenes  with  outward  beauty  graced, 
But  where  kind  words  and  smiles  impart 
A  constant  sunshine  to  the  heart. 

On  such  a  home  of  peace  and  love 
God  showers  his  blessings  from  above. 
And  angels  watching  o'er  it  cry, 
"So  this  is  like  our  home  on  high." 


The  Po-Mer  of  Influence. 

Influence  is  the  power  we  exert  over  others  by  our 
thoughts,  words  and  actions.  It  is  a  high  and  solemn 
thought  for  every  individual  to  think  the  sentiments 
we  express  must  go  on  through  ages;  that  influence 


216  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

never  dies.  We  can  mould  the  destiny  of  ages.  How 
careful  \ve  should  be  in  word,  thought  and  deed,  as 
they  go  out  from  us  every  hour,  and  every  moment, 
and  the  mighty  marvels  they  have  wrought  will  seal 
our  destiny.  In  our  hearts  we  know  not,  and  may 
never  know,  until  we  are  brought  to  answer  for  that 
influence  for  good  or  evil,  to  give  us  joy  and  peace,  or 
to  banish  us  from  His  holy  presence  with  ignomfnv 
and  shame.  I  believe  life  to  be  mostly  what  we  make 
it,  and  we  may,  by  our  blindness,  live  in  a  world  of 
darkness  and  gloom,  or,  in  a  world  of  sunshine  and 
beautv.  for  the  world  without  only  reflects  the  world 

J  7  •* 

within.  We  must  strive:  nothing  fails  of  its  end.  If 
we  try  to  keep  a  cheerful  countenance  and  a  clear  con 
science  by  cultivating  these,  it  makes  a  happy  nature 
within  us,  and  we  will  soon  find  that  we  can  bear  our 
burdens  without  repining,  or  fretting,  or  wasting  our 
energies  in  useless  lamentations,  but  struggling  along, 
gathering  up  such  flowers  as  lie  along  our  path. 

The  worst  of  all  are  the  grumblers  and  growlers, 
those  that  will  find  everything  to  be  out  of  place,  but 
never  will  do  anything  to  set  matters  right.  These 

» 

grumblers  are  invariably  found  to  be  the  least  efficient 
helpers  in  the  school  of  life. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  cherishing  discontent  until 
the  feelings  become  morbid.  According  to  a  story  I 
have  heard  told,  it  must  be  admitted  that  there  are 


LIKE  SKETCHES  AND   POEMS.  217 

cases  beyond  the  moralist:  Once,  a  miserable  look 
ing  dyspeptic  called  upon  a  leading  physician  and  laid 
his  case  before  him.  '-Oh,"  said  the  doctor,  '-you 
only  want  a  good  hearty  laugh ;  go  and  see  Grimaldi." 
•'Alas,1'  said  the  patient.  ••!  am  Grimaldi." 

That  doctor  must  have  been  baffled  to  have  pre 
scribed  for  that  man  after  that  interview.  I  know  we 
must  make  allowance  for  dyspeptics,  and  in  those  cases 
we  must  try  to  render  aid  and  make  their  lives 
as  agreeable  as  we  possibly  can.  Our  manners, 
to  a  certain  extent,  indicate  our  character.  Grace  of 
manner  is  inspired  by  sentiment,  which  is  a  source  of 
no  slight  enjoyment  to  a  cultivated  mind; 

Sympathy  is  the  golden  key  that  unlocks  the^  hearts 
of  others,  and  it  may  almost  be  regarded  as  the  crown 
ing  grace  of  humanity.  Artificial  politeness  is  of  very 
little  use.  What  often  passes  by  the  name  of  etiquette 
is  often  the  essence  of  impoliteness  and  untruthfulness. 
Let  us  never  say,  •'  Not  at  home."  to  cause  our  ser 
vant  to  represent  us  falsely.  That  is  the  influence 
that  goes  on  and  on;,  we  must  meet  it  in  eternity. 
Let  us  be  true  to  ourselves  and  others.  I  think  in 
order  to  have  true  politeness  we  should  have  respect 
for  the  feelings  of  others.  If  we  should  follow  the 
Golden  Rule  what  a  beautiful  world  this  would  be. 


2i8  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

The    Voyage  of  Life. 

I  saw  a  tiny  babe  so  fair; 

Its  eyes  as  blue  as  the  mid-day  air; 
And  it  sweetly  lay  on  a  sea  of  rest, 

And  that  little  sea  was  its  mother's  breast. 

And  I  saw  him  again,  a  prating  boy, 

With  his  eyes  of  blue  and  a  heart  full  of  joy, 

Out  on  the  sea  pf  life  for  a  ride. 

But  he  had  his  mother  for  his  guide. 

And  I  saw  him  again,  a  youth  full  of  sport, 
As  he  stems  the  tide  in  his  little  boat, 

But  he  has  left  his  mother's  side; 
He. has  a  teacher  for  his  guide. 

And  now  his  books  he  must  explore; 

He  's  on  the  sea  of  hidden  lore, 
And  that  is  a  sea  the  youth  deplore; 

They  are  not  fond  of  hidden  lore. 

Now  he  is  working  hard  for  fame, 
He  is  paddling  now  to  gain  a  name; 

If  he  makes  a  high  mark  and  opens  his  eyes 
And  is  very  bold,  he  may  win  the  prize. 

And  I  saw  him  again  in  his  manly  pride, 
Take  the  boat  that  he  must  guide 

Out  upon  the  sea  of  strife; 
He  must  battle  for  his  life. 

If  he  will  turn  his  boat  to  the  right 
And  paddle  away  with  all  his  might, 

He  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  explore, 

There  are  beacon  lights  all  along  that  shore. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND   POEMS.  219 

But  in  his  haste,  v\  ith  his  light  heart, 
He  has  gone  out  and  left  his  chart; 

And  now,  young  man,  I   pray,  beware, 
The  straits  of  sin  are  very  fair. 

And  I  saw  him  again,  on  the  ocean  of  pride, 
And  to  the  left  his  boat  did  glide; 

How  easy  to  sail  aside  without  that 
Voice  and  the  chart  to  guide. 

That  strait  of  sin  is  very  fair, 

You  would. think  it  right  till  you  were  there; 
With  faro  banks  and  pools  of  sin ; 

With  excited  brain  you  would  try  to  win. 

If  you  will  stop  the  place  to  explore 

You  will  find  thousands  of  wrecks  upon  the 
shore, 

And  they,  like  you,  have  lost  their  guide; 
Have  been  swept  down  by  wind  and  tide. 

I  saw  him  again,  all  tattered  and  torn, 

He  has  lost  his  last  cent,  he  looks  forlorn; 
He  sees  the  deep  channel  on  the  other  side, 

With   its   beacon   lights   and   a  chart  for  his 

guide. 
And  he  makes  a  struggle  to  stem  the  tide; 

His  boat  glides  over  to  the  right  side, 
And  he  clasps  that  chart  with  all   his  might, 

And  paddles  up  stream  with   heavenly  light. 
His  boyhood  and  youth  have  passed  away, 

Now  in  ruin  and  decay; 
If  he  had  chosen  the  right  side 

He  could  have  sailed  on  the  crystal  tide. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

His  form  is  bent,  his  hair  is  gray, 

But  he  is  anchored  safe  in  wisdom's  bay; 

It  is  now  the  turn  of  the  tide, 

And  down  the  stream  his  boat  must  glide. 

There  is  a  river  down  below, 

His  little  boat  to  it  must  go: 
That  river  is  death,  he  is  nearing  that  shore, 

He    must    lay  down    his    armor  and  hidden 
lore. 

His  house  of  clay  must  be  left  on  this  side, 
As  a  spirit  form  over  that  river  he'll  glide, 

He  sought  the  deep  water,  on  Christ  believed. 
At  the  eleventh  hour  his  penny  received. 


I  tremble  for  those  young  men  who  laugh  in  a  scoff 
ing  way,  and  sav,  "I  am  sowing  my  wild  oats."  Young 
man,  you  must  reap  what  you  sow.  There  is  one 
passage  in  Scripture  I  would  like  for  you  to  remem 
ber.  Be  sure  your  sins  will  find  you  out.  Look  at 
those  sons  of  Jacob;  they  thought  they  had  covered 
up  their  sin,  and  their  father  would  never  find  out 
what  they  had  done  with  their  brother  Joseph,  and  the 
father  mourned  him  for  twenty  long  years.  But  at 
last,  after  all  these  long  years  had  passed,  away  down 
in  Egypt,  there  Joseph  stood  before  them.  Their 
sins  had  overtaken  them.  Young  man,  if  you  sow  to 
the  Spirit,  you  shall  reap  peace  and  joy,  and  happi 
ness,  and  eternal  life.  If  I  were  you  I  would  make  a 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 


bonfire,  and  burn  those  oats,  and  fan  the  ashes  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  that  they  might  not  come  up  in 
judgment  against  you. 


Lines  on  the  Death  of  James   G.  Blaine. 

James  G.  Blaine,  the  nation's  friend, 
Mas  sailed  his  ship  unto  the  end, 
Over  a  sea  of  political  strife 
Which  no  doubt  has  shortened  his  life. 

His  great  ambition  would  force  his  brain; 
Days  on  his  couch  he  would  have  to  remain, 
Till  nature  came  and  nursed  his  cause, 
And  taught  him  a  lesson  on  her  laws. 

The  great  statesman  has  had  to  fall 
By  the  angel  of  death  that  takes  us  all. 
He  has  laid  down  his  log  book  and  chart  of  life, 
And  entered  that  city  where  there  is  no  more 
strife. 


Memorial  Day. 

This  day  calls  the  gloaming 
To  heart,  soul  and  mind. 

It  brings  back  our  memories 
We  would  not  wish  to  define, 
Of  those  cloudy  summits  of  a  southern 
clime. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

Our  Home  in  Heaven. 

I  arise  from  my  bed  in  the  early  morn. 

To  write  to  my  friends  what  I  think: 
While  I  sleep  I  dream  of  those  lovely  lands. 

And  from  fountains  of  water  I  drink. 

Tis  not  a  lonely  isle  on  a  boundless  main; 

No  brilliant  but  distant  shore, 
Where  our  lovely  ones  who  were  called  away, 

Must  go  to  return  no  more. 

The  eye  that  shuts  in  a  dying  hour, 

Will  open  the  next  in  bliss, 
And  a  welcome  will  sound  in  the  heavenly  world, 

Ere  the  farewell  is  hushed  in  this. 

We  pass  from  the  clasp  of  mourning  friends, 

To  the  arms  of  the  loved  and  lost, 
And  those  loved  faces  will  greet  us  there, 

That  on  earth  we  have  valued  the  most. 

And  I  thank  our  Lord  for  those  lovely  dreams. 
That  to  my  thirsting  soul  is  given; 

And  I  hope  I  may  help  to  fit  the  world, 
To  dwell  with  our  Father  in  heaven. 

We  will  not  fear  death,  my  loving  friends: 

We  will  look  away  o'er  that  sea. 
Where  God  hath  planted  immortal  flowers, 

And  the  river  of  life  runs  free. 

And  I  know  when  the  silver  cord  shall  loose, 

Wrhen  the  vail  is  rent  away, 
Not  long  and  dark  shall  the  passage  be 

To  the  realm  of  endless  dav. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  223 

The  boatman  will  stand  with  muffled  oars, 

We  know  he  has  great  command; 
And  his  compass  is  sure  and  he  points  it  true, 

He  was  never  known  to  strand; 
He  will  land  us  safe  on  the  shore  of  bliss, 

We  will  enter  that  beautiful  land. 

My  dear  readers  one  and  all, 

I  shall  pass  on  before; 
I  will  wait  for  you  in  that  land  of  bliss, 

And  will  meet  vour  boat  at  the  shore. 


We  feel  the  attraction  of  that  home.  We  are  all 
homeward  bound;  every  hour  brings  us  nearer  to  the 
many  mansions.  We  are  not  going  from  home,  or 
we  might  hang  our  heads.  Our  way  is  toward  the 
Father's  house.  Therefore  let  us  rejoice  every  step 
we  lake.  We  must  have  faith,  and  a  great  trust  in 
our  Heavenly  Father  when  we  are  depressed  in  spirit. 
Then  He  will  comfort  us  if  we  will  look  to  Him.  He 
binds  our  feet  lest  we  should  fall  in  slippery  paths. 
He  restrains  our  hearts  and  keeps  us  from  temptation. 

We  may  sail  a  while  in  sin,  in  a  tiny  boat,  on  a 
miniature  lake,  inclosed  like  a  cup.  You  may  see  sin 
look  like  crystal  streams  trickling  down  into  that  lake, 
and  you  are  sure  you  are  happy,  sailing  along  on  a 
smooth  tide.  You  may  see  belts  of  green  that  look 
very  inviting;  a  strong  contrast  with  the  iron  surface 


224  LIFE  SKETCHKS  AND  POEMS. 

of  the  rocks  around  that  lake.  Bye  and  bye  a  storm 
will  arise  It  may  be  a  storm  of  sickness  and  death, 
that  will  beat  upon  you.  You  have  nothing  to  flee  to 
but  yourself,  surrounded  by  the  iron  bound  coast  of 
sin.  Your  tiny  boat  will  not  avail  on  those  bounding 
billows.  Then  my  dear  friend,  what  will  the  end  be? 
If  you  look  away  to  those  green  fields,  you  will  find 
heavenly  pastures,  and  you  v\  ill  be  borne  away  from 
that  lake  of  sin,  and  have  a  pure  heart,  with  the  love 
of  your  heavenly  Father  shed  abroad  in  it.  That  will 
be  far  better  than  the  lake  of  sin.  Then,  my  friend, 
when  the  storms  of  life  beat  hard  upon  you,  our 
Father  will  hear  your  cries,  and  you  will  find  sweet 
comfort  in  trusting  in  Him.  You  will  be  redeemed, 
not  by  gold,  but  by  that  precious  blood  of  Christ. 

So  far  as  cherishing  low  views  of  man.  I  believe 
that  gems  of  inestimable  value  lie  concealed  beneath 
the  beggar's  rags.  We  are  launched  upon  the  ocean 
of  life  like  an  innumerable  fleet.  Each  one  may 
spread  what  sail  God  hath  given  him.  No  commander 
has  a  right  to  say  what  course  we  shall  take  or  what 
canvas  we  shall  spread.  If  we  put  our  trust  in  our 
heavenly  captain,  He  will  guide  us  across  that  ocean, 
and  we  shall  make  the  port  of  eternal  life.  If  we  take 
that  course,  we  find  peace  hovering  over  us.  The 
ocean  is  not  always  tranquil,  but  we  will  find  pillowed 
on  the  ripples  sleep  the  shadows. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND   POEMS.  225 

I  feel,  my  dear  friends,  that  I  am  nearing  that  port. 
I  have  had  wonderful  visions  of  that  beautiful  land 
over  there.  In  sickness,  for  several  days  it  appeared 
to  me  that  I  lay  upon  a  cloud.  Between  two  worlds 
I  hovered.  I  could  see  a  lovely  river,  the  water  as 
clear  as  crystal.  I  could  see  mounds  of  lovely  flow 
ers  and  foliage,  nothing  like  it  that  ever  grew  upon 
the  earth.  I  think  that  land  is  not  far  away,  as  sea 
men  from  the  outlook  descry  the  mountain  tops  when 
their  ship  is  ploughing  a  waste  of  water  to  enter  their 
native  land.  I  have  something  very  strange  about 
that  sickness.  When  I  was  so  that  I  could  realize,  I 
seemed  to  have  changed.  I  have  plenty  of  proof  of 
what  I  am  about  to  write,  here  in  Minneapolis,  where 
I  have  resided  for  the  last  five  years  with  my  son.  I 
was  at  that  time  sixty-eight  years  old.  All  my  life  I 
had  loved  poetry,  but  never  could  compose,  and  before 
I  could  receive  strength  to  write  it  down,  it  would 
come  in  volumes  to  me.  When  some  one  was  near 
that  I  could  repeat  it,  then  it  would  be  wrote  down, 
and  if  it  was  not  convenient,  that  I  lost.  It  would  not 
come  the  second  time. 

Through  my  sickness,  the  most  of  the  poetry  that 
came  was  from  the  Bible.  It  seemed  like  an  inspira 
tion.  MY  physician  said  it  was  a  phenomenal  case.  I 
could  not  account  for  it,  neither  could  my  friends. 
After  I  was  stronger,  I  traveled  for  my  health.  If  I 


226  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

was  shocked,  or  apprehended  any  trouble  in  traveling, 
I  was  sure  to  realize  all  that  happened  in  poetry,  and 
1  prepared  myself  to  note  it  down.  If  I  dwell  upon 
one  subject  several  hours,  I  am  sure  to  have  poetry 
follow  it.  Why  it  is,  I  cannot  tell:  probably  the 
reader  of  this  book  will  say  it  is  very  odd.  It  will  not 
be  any  more  of  a  riddle  to  you  mv  friend,  than  it  is  to 
me.  I  give  this  book  to  the  world  as  I  receive  it,  and 
thev  must  judge  for  themselves. 

The  Bible  tells  us.  if  we  ask  the  Father  in  faith, 
nothing  doubting,  we  shall,  receive,  and  I  firmly  be 
lieve  that  Scripture.  If  we  have  a  friend  in  Europe 
and  he  corresponds  with  us,  we  know  he  is  there,  al 
though  we  do  not  see  him.  We  must  have  faith  to 
believe  he  is  there.  That  same  rule  will  work  with 
our  heavenlv  Father.  He  has  spoken  to  us  through 
his  Son,  and  he  sends  inspirations  upon  us  to  let  us 
know  he  is  still  there,  if  we  heed  that  little  voice  that 
will  never  lead  us  astray. 

Not  long  since  I  heard  an  engineer  tell  what  hap 
pened  to  him.  He  said  he  was  nearing  a  station  one 
very  dark  night  with  a  heavy  passenger  train.  He 
heard  a  voice  telling  him  to  stop  the  train.  He  did 
not  take  any  notice  until  he  heard  it  the  third  time, 
then  he  called  for  brakes.  The  crew  thought  him 
crazy.  After  the  train  was  stopped  he  told  them  to 
go  ahead  and  see  what  was  on  the  track.  To  their 


LIKE  SKETCHES  AND   POEMS.  227 

surprise  there  stood  a  coal  train  that  had  been  switched 
on  to  the  main  track  by  mistake.  Please  tell  me,  my 
reader,  what  voice  was  that? 

I  hear  of  such  cases  very  often  in  railroad  life.  If 
he  had  not  heeded  that  voice,  hundreds  would  have 
perished.  I  have  found  through  the  travel  of  sixty 
years,  when  I  heard  that  small  voice  and  obeyed  it,  it 
never  led  me  astray.  If  we  want  a  guide,  we  must 
be  willing  to  acknowledge  them.  Our  friends  wish  us 
not  to  be  ashamed  of  them. 

My  faith  grows  stronger  every  day.  Hope  is  one 
of  the  chambers  of  the  soul.  We  need  humility  with 
our  hope.  While  I  am  writing  I  recall  an  incident. 
Some  years  since  I  had  a  lady  friend,  and  we  were 
very  warmly  attached  to  each  other,  but  by  some  out 
side  influence  our  friendship  was  broken.  For  sev 
eral  years  we  did  not  cross  each  other's  path,  if  it 
could  be  avoided.  One  winter  I  was  connected  with 
a  revival  meeting  in  the  Methodist  church.  From  the 
time  that  meeting  commenced  there  seemed  to  be  a 
voice  speaking  to  me.  saying,  "I  must  go  to  that  lady 
and  have  her  come  to  church."  That  was  too  much 
for  me;  I  thought  I  never  could  come  to  that,  she 
being  very  skeptical. 

It  was  very  humiliating  to  me  to  make  the  first  ad 
vances.  I  went  for  several  days  carrying  that  burden 


228  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

upon  my  shoulders,  and  I  found  I  was  losing  my  inter 
est  in  the  meetings.  I  was  alarmed. 

One  evening  I  made  a  determination  and  went  to 
invite  her  to  go  with  me.  She  appeared  to  be  very 
much  surprised,  but  she  went  with  me.  After  a  few 
evenings  she  came  forward  and  joined  the  class,  and 
was  very  happy. 

My  humility  worked  out  a  most  elevated  joy  and  I 
thanked  God  that  he  made  me  an  instrument  in  bring 
ing  her  to  Christ.  In  less  than  one  month  from  that 
evening  that  I  met  her  she  lay  in  the  cold  arms  of 
Death.  I  looked  upon  her  with  a  shiver,  thinking  if  I 
had  not  done  my  duty,  what  would  have  been  the  con 
sequence.  What  a  sin  would  have  lain  upon  me.  How 
thankful  I  was  that  God  gave  me  strength.  Oh,  how 
many  times  through  that  sickness  did  she  thank  me  for 
calling  that  evening. 

Oh,  that  still,  small  voice, 
Because  it  is  to  mortal  eyes  unseen, 

Ye  call  it  foolishness,  a  childish  dream. 
In  vain,  you  cannot  rob  me  of  that  thought. 

•That   legend    with   such     heavenly   sweetness 

fraught ; 
That  blessed  angels  have  for  ages  smiled, 

When  thev  have  whispered, 
Man  becomes  more  like  a  child. 

Oh,  land  unknown,  Oh,  land  of  love  divine, 
Whence  come  those  whispers? 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  229 

Oh,  Father,  all-wise,  eternal, 
Guide  those  wandering,  wayward  feet    of  mine, 
Unto  those  pastures  vernal. 


Unlucky  Friday. 

Friday  is  regarded  by  many  people  as  an  unlucky 
day,  though  no  good  reason  exists  why  this  unenvia 
ble  distinction  should  be  conferred  upon  it.  Indeed,  it 
is  self-evident  that  one  day  of  the  week  must  be  just 
as  lucky  as  any  other  day.  Our  Saviour  was  cruci 
fied  on  Friday,  and  the  shadow  of  that  awful  tragedy 
has  rested  upon  the  day  ever  since.  But  it  is  the  deed, 
and  not  the  day,  which  the  Christian  world  abhors. 
Because  Friday  was  polluted  by  the  crucifixion,  it  is 
no  reason  the  day  should  be  unclean  forever. 

Friday  has  been  an  eventful  day  in  the  history  of 
America.  Columbus  sailed  on  his  voyage  of  discov 
ery  on  that  day,  and  ten  weeks  after,  also  on  Friday, 
his  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  land.  St.  Au 
gustine,  the  oldest  town  in  the  United  States,  was  $ 
founded  on  Friday,  and  the  Mayflower,  with  the  Pil 
grims,  arrived  at  Plymouth  on  that  same  day  of  the 
week.  Bunker  Hill  was  seized  and  fortified  on  Fri 
day;  the  motion  that  the  United  Colonies  were,  by 
right,  and  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  colonies, 
was  made  on  Friday.  We  cite  these  examples  sim- 


230  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

plv  to  show  that  many  important  events  which  have 
proved  blessings  to  millions,  occurred  on  that  day 
which  the  unthinking  and  superstitious  regard  as  un- 
luckv.  It  is  onlv  as  we  consecrate  a  day  bv  loftv  en- 

•>  •/  «/•/•> 

deavors  and  earnest  thoughts  that  the  days  become 
significant  in  themselves.  It  must  be  given  them  by 
us.  The  seventh  day  was  not  holy  until  God  pro 
nounced  it  so.  When  I  have  an\  thing  to  do  on  Fri 
day.  I  do  it.  I  find  I  succeed  just  as  well  as  I  would 
on  any  other  day  of  the  week. 


The  chief  use  of  biography  consists  in  the  noble 
models  of  character  with  which  it  abounds.  Our 
great  fore-fathers  still  live  among  us  in  the  record  of 
their  lives,  as  well  as  the  acts  they  have  done,  which 
live  also,  still  sit  by  us  at  tablr,  and  hold  us  by  the 
hand,  furnishing  examples  for  our  benefit.  v\hich  we 
may  still  study,  admire  and  imitate.  Indeed,  whoever 
has  left  behind  him  the  record  of  a  noble  life  has  be 
queathed  to  posterity  an  enduring  source  of  good,  for 
it  serves  as  a  model  for  others  to  form  themselves  bv, 
for  all  time  to  come.  Hence,  a  book  containing  the 
life  of  a  true  man  is  full  of  precious  seed.  It  is  a  still 
living  voice.  To  use  Milton's  words,  "It  is  the  pre 
cious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit  embalmed  and  treas 
ured  up  on  purpose  for  a  life  beyond."  Life  contact 
with  the  good  never  fails  to  impart  good. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  231 

/  ncs  to  Mrs.  Mary  Cooley,  on  the  Death  of  her  Son. 

This  day  I  have  met  your  brother, 

His  heart  is  rilled  with  woe 
A  mourning  for  his  sister, 

Out  where  the  orange  blossoms  grow. 

He  is  not  dead,  the  son  of  your  affections, 
He  has  been  taken  from  the  valley  of  strife 

And  put  on  the  spirit  immortal 
And  entered  again  into  life. 

If  he  could  speak  to  his  mother 

And  give  her  a  fond  embrace, 
His  smiles  would  be  haloes  of  heaven 

Shedding  sunshine  of  love  on  her  face. 

Your  heart  may  ache  in  the  gloaming, 

Your  eyes  may  rill  with  tears; 
He  has  passed  through  the  portals  before  you, 

You  have  nothing  now  to  fear. 

There  you  will  meet  your  loved  one 

And  clasp  him  to  your  heart, 
And  in  that  land  of  promise 

From  him  no  more  to  part. 


i     Better  than  Gold. 

Better  than  grandeur,  better  than  gold, 
Than  rank  and  title  a  thousand  fold 
Is  a  healthy  body,  and  mind  at  ease, 
And  a  simple  pleasure  that  always  please. 


232  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS. 

A  heart  that  can  feel  for  others'  woes 

With  sympathies  enough  to  enfold 

All  men  as  brothers  is  better  than  gold. 

Better  than  gold  is  a  conscience  clear, 
The  toiling  for  bread  in  an  humble  sphere, 
Doubly  blessed  with  content  and  health, 
Untried  by  lust  and  cares  of  wealth. 

Lowly  living  and  lowly  thought 
Adorn  and  ennoble  the  poor  man's  cot, 
For  mind  and  morals  in  nature's  plan 
Are  the  genuine  tests  of  a  gentleman. 

Better  than  gold  is  the  sweet  repose 

Of  the  sons  of  toil  when  their  labors  close; 

Better  than  gold  is  the  poor  man's  sleep, 

And  the  balm  that  drops  from  his  slumbers  deep. 

Bring  sleeping  draughts  to  the  downy  bed 
Where  luxury  pillows  its  aching  head. 
The  toiler's  simple  opiate  seems 
A  shorter  route  to  the  land  of  dreams. 

Better  than  gold  is  a  thinking  mind 
That  in  the  realm  of  books  can  find 
A  treasure  surpassing  Australian  ore. 
And  live  with  the  great  and  good  of  yore. 

The  sage's  lore  and  the  poet's  lay, 
The  glories  of  empires  passed  away, 
The  worlds  great  will  thus  unfold 
And  yield  a  treasure  better  than  gold. 

Better  than  gold  is  a  pleasant  home 
Where  all  the  fireside  comforts  come; 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  233 

The  shrine,  the  heavenly  life. 
Hallowed  by  mother,  sister  and  wife. 

However  humble  the  home  may  be, 
Or  tried  by  sorrow  by  heaven's  decree, 
The  blessings  that  never  were  bought  or  sold, 
And  center  there  are  better  than  gold. 


Keep  the  Sky  in  View. 

Just  keep  your  eyes  from  off  the  earth, 
And  keep  the  sky,  my  friends,  in  view, 

It  may  be  cold  and  dark  below, 
But  there's  a  light  above  for  you. 

It  long  has  been  the  lot  of  man, 
And  woman  too,  I  do  believe. 

To  find  as  they  pass  on  through  life 
A  host  of  things  to  make  them  grieve. 

For  sometimes  trouble  comes,  and  grief, 
When  hearts  are  wilful,  proud  and  cold, 

And  wander  on  in  sinful  ways 
Beyond  the  shelter  of  the  fold. 

Then  sorrow  is  not  sent,  my  friends, 

To  make  your  life  so  sad  and  drear, 
But  that  vour  life  mav  make  amends, 

J  J 

Ancf  grow  into  a  heavenly  sphere. 

Balm  is  given  for  every  wound 

That  ever  grieved  a  mortal  breast, 

And  light  and  hope  will  come  full  soon 
And  bring  to  you  an  added  rest. 


234  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND   POEMS. 

As  brighter  shines  the  sky  and  sun 
After  the  storm  has  driven  past, 

So  souls  that  long  have  been  undone 
Are  purified  when  woes  are  passed 

So  keep  your  eyes  from  off  the  earth, 
And  keep  the  sky  always  in  view, 

It  ma}-  be  cold  and  dark  below, 
But  there's  a  light  above  for  you. 


Conscience. 

I  ask  for  a  conscience 
That  cannot  be  sold 

For  that  bright  coin 
They  call  pure  gold, 

And  I  pray  our  Father 
Will  ever  impart 

His  holy  blessing 
To  that  leaf  of  my  heart. 

I  know  it  is  folded 
And  closed  like  a  book, 

But  in  my  long  journey 
If  the  right  path  I  took, 

I  shall  have  nothing  to  fear 
When  they  open  that  book. 

And  now  dearest  Father, 
I  pray  for  the  world, 

That  they  have  a  conscience 
That  cannot  be  sold. 


LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  POEMS.  235 

That  they  may  be  adopted, 
Their  names  written  down 

As  heirs  to  Thy  mansion, 
With  robes  and  bright  crown. 

And  now,  my  dear  readers, 
To  you  I'll  be  true, 

My  book  is  nearly  finished, 
I  must  bid  you  adieu. 


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